The story took shape like a dream woven into the mist. The man's voice had grown quieter, more reverent, and the girl listened intently as the past unravelled before her.
"After the fall," he said, "Chara woke up surrounded by golden flowers in a place called the Ruins. That's where Toriel found them. And not long after, so did Asriel."
The tone of his voice softened, touched with something like fondness.
"Toriel, motherly and kind, brought the child home. Asriel, ever curious, quickly became attached to them. It wasn't long before the two were inseparable. Chara had no family left. The Dreemurrs became that family."
The man's words shifted into memory, and the girl could almost see it unfold:
Stone halls glowing with purple light. The sound of laughter echoing through the old castle. Chara and Asriel running through the gardens, dodging fireflies and flowers that danced when you sang to them.
There were picnics by the water near Waterfall, where glowing mushrooms lit up their faces. There were stories read by firelight in Toriel's library, Chara curled up beside her while Asriel leaned against her shoulder, eyes half-closed.
Chara helped Toriel with baking—learning to mix cinnamon and butterscotch in the perfect balance. They made messes that ended in smiles. Burnt pies and flour on their faces.
And every night, Asgore told them bedtime tales: of stars, of the surface, of a time before. He always paused when the stories touched on the war, but Chara would listen anyway, absorbing every unspoken truth.
But it wasn't always light.
Chara had dreams—strange, vivid ones. Sometimes they would wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, sitting up in their bed, staring at the stone ceiling. Toriel would be there, a gentle hand on their shoulder. Asriel too, eyes worried, always asking, "Are you okay?"
There were moments when Chara sat alone, staring into the glowing pool near Hotland, their reflection distorted. They didn't speak much about their past. But sometimes they whispered about it. Just to Asriel.
"They were scared of me," Chara had said once. "Not like here."
"You're safe now," Asriel had replied.
Sometimes, Chara would flinch at loud noises. Or be startled by sudden shadows. And though they smiled more, that sadness never fully left their eyes. But even in those moments, the love around them never wavered.
"They were happy," the man said, more to himself now. "Truly happy. For a time."
The girl tilted her head slightly, questioning the sudden weight in his voice.
"But time… it has a way of turning even the brightest joy into something else. And Chara began to see that their happiness was built on a cage. A beautiful one. But a prison all the same."
He turned toward her again.
"They asked questions. Why can't we go to the surface? Why do monsters have to hide? Why are we still punished for a war so long ago?"
The girl's grip on the book tightened.
"Chara began to understand the suffering beneath the smiles. The hope every monster carried. The pain they masked. And they wanted to help. They began to look for answers. To read. To study magic. Soul theory. Legends of the surface."
He looked off into the forest.
"And that's when something inside them changed. Slowly. Quietly. A resolve began to take root. They would find a way to break the barrier. To bring monsters back to the surface. No matter the cost."
He paused.
"But we're not there yet. Not quite."
The wind whispered through the trees, stirring fallen leaves around their feet.
"They loved the Dreemurrs. Make no mistake. Toriel and Asgore were parents to them in every sense. And Asriel… he was everything. But love alone was not enough to heal a broken world. Not for Chara."
He fell silent, letting the echoes of his story settle in the girl's heart.
The wind atop the mountain rustled the tall grass as the man grew quiet, the past flickering like dying embers in his eyes. The girl sat across from him, her book still open in her lap, pages fluttering gently.
He finally spoke again, his voice lower now.
"There was a moment—a turning point—when the warmth Chara had known began to bend under the weight of purpose. It started as a question. Then a desire. Then something sharper."
His gaze shifted toward the misty horizon.
"They wanted freedom. Not just for themselves, but for everyone. They believed it was possible. They believed it was worth the cost. But not everyone agreed."
His voice grew softer.
"Asriel… Asriel loved Chara. Completely. He would have followed them anywhere. But when Chara's questions turned into a plan, Asriel hesitated."
The scene blurred from the present, fading into the past, into memory:
Stone corridors, flickering with torchlight. Chara sat with old scrolls, dusty tomes spread across the floor of the castle library. Asriel stood nearby, uncertain.
"You really think this will work?" he asked.
Chara looked up at him. "If we do it right. If we're careful. Yes."
Asriel shifted. "But it's dangerous. What if something goes wrong?"
Chara stood, brushing off their hands. "We don't have time to wait anymore. You've heard the grown-ups. The barrier is permanent, they say. They've given up."
Asriel's ears lowered slightly. "But hurting someone… even if it's just one… I don't know if I could…"
Chara reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to. I'll do it. You just need to trust me."
He wanted to. Gods, he wanted to.
Days passed. Chara trained in secret—studying how souls worked, reading monster and human histories. Toriel noticed how withdrawn they were becoming. Asgore began asking questions.
And every time, Asriel defended them.
"They're just curious," he'd say.
But late at night, he couldn't sleep. He'd lie awake beside Chara and stare at the ceiling, guilt crawling through his chest like ice.
One night, Chara whispered, "I want to see the stars."
Asriel turned toward them. "We can't."
"Not yet," Chara replied. "But we will."
Their determination was unshakable. It scared him. But he loved them too much to leave. Too much to stop them.
Back on the mountaintop, the man sighed.
"Asriel was torn. He saw the hope in Chara's plan. He saw the desperation in the Underground. But he also saw the price."
The girl leaned in closer.
"And that's when the conflict began. Not out loud. Not at first. But inside him. The fear. The love. The ache of choosing between the one you love and the right thing to do."
The wind swept around them again.
"That's the part most people forget," the man whispered. "It wasn't just a tragedy. It was a choice. And not just for Chara."