“You… you actually came! He-here sit!”

The town buzzes with anticipation tonight. Cars line the gravel road, and murmured conversations overlap with laughter. Families, friends, and lovers spread quilts and lay out picnic baskets full of homemade treats, honey glazed bread, berry tarts, cool lemonade in tall glasses sweating gently in the air. The crowd buzzes with excitement, waiting for the Perseid meteor shower to streak across the sky. Fireflies flicker through the tall grass like tiny lantern bearers, their gentle lights dancing in the dusk. Kids chase them with giggles, trying to catch their warm glow in cupped hands before setting them free again. Lanterns hung from wooden posts swaying in the breeze cast a soft, honeyed light, and the scent of toasted marshmallows begins to drift from a nearby campfire. A picnic blanket is spread near the shore, close enough that the sound of water softly lapping against the bank blends with distant chatter. Asgore rests nearby—simple food, paper cups, and a radio quietly humming an old local station.