HAZE

The Bonds of Brotherhood

No fate could be worse than this place of static.

Forced to listen, over and over, to the echo of memories; watching, again and again, one's achievements, one's mistakes, one's lifetime. A torturous cycle that all suffered alone, in this place.

Papyrus missed his brother.

Sans missed his brother.

They missed Toriel, and Undyne, and Alphys, and Asgore--hell, even Mettaton. And the human; they couldn't dare forget about Frisk.

They just wanted to go home.

Within their stagnant prisons, the static stirred. A window into another world ripped itself into existence, echoing in painful screams and cries that faded into a familiar silence.

The two souls separated themselves from the static, the echoes, the torment thrown upon them with no reason or remorse. They rushed forward, almost on instinct.

All they wanted was to be free.

The Void proved to be merciful, every once in a while.

But it could only be merciful for so long.

***

Golden light bathed the room in a warm, fulfilling atmosphere, high windows reaching towards the sky and columns lining each side of the hall. A holy, peaceful hum fell upon the place, and he might have found himself at ease, depending on the situation. Across from him led the way back to New Home; behind him, the King's throne room.

He knew this place well, having been here so many times.

The judgment hall; where oneself is questioned and judged by a chosen monster, their actions and very soul exposed for the entire world to see.

Oh, what an intimidating place to be.

Yet, when the call of birds and murmurs of voices could usually be heard, nothing but silence remained. The air in the hall weighed down on his shoulders, and a red, dusty scarf wrapped tightly around his throat, reminding him of something he couldn't remember. Not yet, anyways.

In front of him stood a human--Chara, he recognized--their hideous smile fixed in place, clothes covered in white and grey, the fabric of their sweater splotched with red from old wounds. They held a knife in hand and, for an odd moment...resembled Frisk.

A dark, hateful aura pierced his soul. He stared them down...

"Let's just get to the point."

...and fought to the death.

999999

Aster woke up gasping for air, shaking in sweat-soaked clothes. Funny, considering he hadn't expelled magic through sweat in a long time.

The dream felt foreign to him--its origins from an unknown source. It left a bitter taste in his mouth and his soul shaken, but from betrayal or shock, he wasn't sure.

Gaining control of his breathing and grounding himself, Aster fell back on the bed with a huff.

"Stupid dreams," he muttered to himself, glancing at the clock on the bedside table: 4:17. Well, at least it was morning.

Early, but still. Morning.

Rolling onto his side, Aster blinked at the empty space next to him.

"Dings?"

He sat up in an instant, looking around. No sign of his know-it-all brother anywhere; he sat alone in the master bedroom, submerged in disorienting darkness.