#our ambitions were so vast

[eclecticopposition]

Day Six – Haunted/Ghost

have you ever fought a ghost before?

[idkyetxoxo]

Cregan Stark - Frozen Ties

Summary - Forced into a marriage to secure alliances, she navigates the confines of her new life facing emotional turmoil and a complicated relationship. An unexpected act of kindness from her husband kindles hope, making her reconsider their union and find warmth in the icy politics.

Pairing - Cregan Stark x Targaryen reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2437

Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Mother, this is absurd! You can't promise me to him, you can't just send me away like this," I cried, my voice breaking as tears spilt down my cheeks. 

I stood before my weary mother, who wrung her hands together anxiously, her face etched with sorrow.

"My sweet daughter, I wish things were different, but this is necessary," she said, her voice heavy with regret. "You must marry him. We need the North's support."

"They have already declared for Rhaenyra," I protested, frustration making my voice tremble. I knew all too well how Aemond's newfound power had corrupted him.

"Does he truly think I can change Lord Stark's mind?" I continued, her hands gently cupping my face as she wiped away my tears.

"You know what Aemond is," she said softly.

"A monster," I mumbled, and she sighed deeply.

"That is not how you should speak about your king," a voice cut through our despair. We both turned to the door, where Aemond stood, composed and authoritative, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You, dear sister, will fulfil your duties as required," he said, advancing toward us with purposeful strides.

"I don't want to," I said defiantly. Aemond's face darkened with fury, his eye narrowing into a cold, merciless slit. He snatched my chin with a brutal grip, his fingers digging into my skin like talons, forcing me to meet his unyielding gaze. 

Alicent gasped, calling out his name in alarm, moving swiftly to try and intervene.

"Do as you're told and ensure he listens, or you'll be of no use to this family," Aemond commanded, shoving me back with a harshness that made me stumble. 

Tears flowed freely as I stared at the ground. 

My fate was sealed, and there was nothing left for me to do but accept it.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The icy winds of the North tore through my cloak, each gust slicing into my skin like a blade. The endless expanse of snow and the pale, unforgiving sky mirrored the numbness that had taken root in my heart, where warmth and hope had once dwelled.

Each step toward Winterfell felt heavier, burdened by the weight of my impending marriage.

Upon arrival, I was met with a formal courtesy that did little to ease my anxiety. Winterfell, with its majestic yet unwelcoming presence, felt like a fortress of cold indifference. The great halls, silent and vast, bore witness to my inner turmoil.

Lord Cregan Stark awaited me in his dining hall, a brooding figure amidst the cold stone and flickering hearth. I entered with a mixture of trepidation and resolve. 

As he rose from his seat, his gaze was steady and unreadable.

"Lord Stark," I began, my voice trembling slightly but firm, "I need to understand why you agreed to this marriage. You have already pledged your support to Rhaenyra. How can you reconcile this with what's being forced upon me?"

He regarded me thoughtfully, his eyes reflecting years of experience and wisdom despite his youth. He gestured for me to take a seat across from him, and I did so, my heart pounding in my chest.

"When I pledged my support to Princess Rhaenyra, it was with the hope of ensuring stability and peace for the realm. Yet, the realm's stability is fragile, easily disturbed by shifting allegiances and the ambitions of those in power."

I leaned forward, gripping the armrests of my chair. "But why this marriage? Why agree to something that feels like a betrayal to your cause and to me?"

His expression softened, and he leaned back, considering his words. "In the intricate dance of politics, difficult choices must sometimes be made. This marriage, though forced, is intended to secure a delicate balance. The North's support is crucial, but so is the stability of our alliances. A strong marriage alliance can offer more security than mere pledges of support."

"But at what cost?" I asked, my voice trembling as a fresh wave of fear gripped my heart. "At the cost of my happiness and dignity?"

He looked at me with sympathy and resolve. "Sacrifices are often necessary for the greater good. I understand the personal toll this takes on you, and it is not a decision made lightly but it is my duty to ensure the North remains a steadfast ally, and this marriage is part of that duty."

I stared at him, struggling to reconcile his words with my reality. The burden of my impending marriage, the personal sacrifice, and the political manoeuvring felt overwhelming.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

A month had passed since our wedding, and the reality of my new life had settled in with an unrelenting chill. Each day felt like a repetition of the last, my existence reduced to a monotonous cycle of needlework and solitary moments with the horses. 

The stark beauty of the North, once so captivating, now seemed to mock me with its cold indifference.

I spent my mornings hunched over delicate threads, my fingers moving with mechanical precision. Needlework, though a distraction, was a constant reminder of how far removed I was from the life I once imagined.

In the afternoons, I would find myself wandering to the stables, seeking the comfort of the horses. Their warmth and calm offered brief solace from my sorrow. I cherished them, knowing they were the closest I would ever get to the dragon I longed to see again. 

As I brushed their coats, the tenderness in my touch reflected my deep yearning for connection. Yet, despite their gentle company, they could not fill the void left by my unmet desires and the strained nature of my marriage.

The horses, though beloved, were not my dragon.

Evenings were the hardest. As night fell and shadows lengthened across Winterfell, I retreated to my chambers with a heavy heart. 

The bed that once promised comfort now felt like a cage, and sleep came with difficulty. I would lie there, staring at the cold stone walls, my thoughts racing through a labyrinth of regret and despair.

Cregan, despite his stoic demeanour, was not blind to my misery. He saw the weariness in my movements and the sorrow in my eyes. He knew that the woman he had married had become a shadow, trapped in a life she had never chosen.

One evening, as I prepared for bed, I heard a soft knock on my chamber door. Cregan entered without waiting for an invitation, his presence a contrast to the cold, impersonal walls of my room. 

"May I join you?" he asked gently, though an underlying tension lingered.

I nodded, and he sat beside me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that belied his usual composure.

"It's been a month," he began, his tone measured yet empathetic. "And I can see how this life has taken its toll on you."

I looked away, unable to meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words. "You have no reason to concern yourself with my happiness, Lord Stark. I am here to fulfil my duties, not to seek solace."

"That's not entirely true," he said softly. "You are my wife, and it is my duty to ensure you are content, or at least as content as possible in this harsh land."

I sighed, the words catching in my throat. "This life is a cage, and I am its prisoner. I find no joy in my days, no comfort in my nights. I am lost in a place that is not my home, with a future that was never mine to choose."

He reached out, placing a reassuring hand on mine. His touch was warm, a contrast to the cold that had settled in my heart. "I understand this is not what you envisioned. But perhaps, if you allow it, we could find a way to make this arrangement more bearable."

I looked at him, my heart aching with a mix of gratitude and scepticism. "What can be done? I am bound to this life, and it feels as though my desires and dreams are nothing more than echoes in the wind."

"I am a dragon, I am blood and fire," I declared with a fervent intensity, my voice echoing the fierce spirit within me. "You are ice and snow. We were never meant to be." 

The words seemed to strike him deeply, causing a visible pain to cross his features.

His eyes met mine, filled with sadness and something softer, perhaps understanding. He took a deep breath as if steeling himself for what he was about to say.

"Perhaps we weren't meant to be," he conceded, his voice low but firm. "But here we are, bound by vows, by duty, by the threads of fate. And I refuse to believe that fate is so cruel as to leave us without choices."

I scoffed, a bitter smile curling my lips. "Choices? What choices do I have? I did not choose to come here, nor to marry you. Everything was decided for me—by kings, by lords, by the whims of men who never cared to ask what I wanted."

He flinched, as though struck, but his hand remained steady on mine.

For a moment, there was only the sound of our breathing, heavy and uneven. The tension between us was undeniable, a taut string ready to snap. 

His eyes bored into mine, his frustration clear but his sincerity even clearer.

"Then tell me," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to steady it. "What is it you want from me, Lord Stark? What is it you truly desire?"

He hesitated, his expression softening as he seemed to search for the right words. "I want... I want us to find a way to coexist, to find a small measure of peace in this storm. I want us to try, together, to build something from the ashes of what we were forced to leave behind."

The words hung in the cold air between us, carrying both a challenge and a plea. I could feel my defences wavering, the walls I'd built around myself beginning to crack. I wanted to dismiss him, to cling to my anger as if it were a shield, but a small part of me buried deep beneath the resentment yearned for something more than this constant battle.

He watched me closely, waiting. I turned my gaze away, my heart heavy, unsure what to believe anymore.

"It might please you to know," he began, his voice carefully measured, "that I have made arrangements for Silverwing to be brought here."

I stiffened, my heart stumbling over itself at the unexpected words.

"What?" I asked, unable to hide the astonishment in my voice. I searched his face for any sign of deception but found none, only a quiet, earnest expression.

His smile widened just a fraction, his eyes holding a glimmer of hope. "I have had my men prepare the likes of a dragon pit to house Silverwing. It should be ready soon enough."

Before I could fully process the relief and joy that surged through me, I found myself instinctively pulling him into an embrace. The news of Silverwing's impending arrival filled me with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and happiness. 

The thought of being reunited with my dragon, my closest companion, was a balm to the loneliness that had marked my days.

He chuckled softly, his arms encircling me with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the chill of Winterfell. The sting of regret crept in for the harshness I had shown him mere minutes ago, for pushing him away when he had only tried to reach out.

As I pulled away slightly, I met his gaze with sincere eyes, the fire within me dimming to embers.

"I apologize," I said, my voice laced with earnestness. "I don't mean to suggest that you have been cruel to me. On the contrary, you have shown me a kindness that I didn't expect. Many men would not have endured their wives' coldness and indifference as you have."

His expression softened, and he nodded in understanding. "I meant it when I said that I do not wish this union to be a dreadful one. You are my wife, and I am your husband. Despite our differences, it is important that we strive to understand each other."

I sighed, feeling a sense of contentment wash over me. Perhaps I had been unfair in my judgments. 

Throughout the past month, he had never forced me into anything I wasn't willing to do. His patience and compassion had been genuine, and I began to see the depth of his character beyond the surface of our arranged marriage.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward once more and leaned down, pressing my lips to his in a kiss. It was a kiss of new beginnings, of understanding and tentative acceptance. 

In that moment, it felt as though we were discovering each other anew, exploring the possibilities of what our union could become.

The kiss deepened, each touch and caress reflecting a newfound willingness to bridge the gap between us. As we finally parted, the air between us seemed lighter, filled with the promise of a more hopeful future. 

With a tender smile, I looked into his eyes and took a courageous step. 

"Perhaps," I said softly, "if you are willing, you could stay with me tonight. We could share the same room, just to see what it might feel like."

His eyes warmed with surprise and appreciation. "I'd like that," he replied, his tone sincere. "I'll stay with you."

As we settled into the bed together, the room was bathed in the soft glow of a single candle. The warmth of his presence beside me was a comforting contrast to the coldness that had previously defined our interactions. We lay quietly for a moment, adjusting to the new closeness.

Cregan's voice broke the silence, a thoughtful note in his tone. "Would you like to go hunting with me next week? It might be a chance for us to spend some time together outside of these walls."

The idea of joining him for a hunt was enticing, and I smiled at the thought. "Yes, I would like that very much," I replied, my voice soft with genuine interest.

He smiled back, a sense of relief and anticipation in his eyes. "Then it's settled. We'll go hunting next week."

As we lay next to each other, the shared warmth and the promise of the coming adventure created a sense of closeness that had been missing for so long. 

The night was filled with a quiet intimacy, and as sleep began to claim us, I felt a glimmer of hope for the future we might build together. 

In this cold land of ice and snow, perhaps there was room for warmth, connection, and the kind of companionship that could grow into something truly meaningful.

A/n - Get you a man who builds you a dragon pit cause you miss your little beast

[exhaled-spirals]

« To mention the global loss of biodiversity, that is to say, the disappearance of life on our planet, as one of our problems, along with air pollution or ocean acidification, is absurd—like a doctor listing the death of his patient as one symptom among others.

The ecological catastrophe cannot be reduced to the climate crisis. We must think about the disappearance of life in a global way. About two-thirds of insects, wild mammals and trees disappeared in a few years, a few decades and a few millennia, respectively. This mass extinction is not mainly caused by rising temperatures, but by the devastation of natural habitats.

Suppose we managed to invent clean and unlimited energy. This technological feat would be feted by the vast majority of scientists, synonymous in their eyes with a drastic reduction in CO2 emissions. In my opinion, it would lead to an even worse disaster. I am deeply convinced that, given the current state of our appetites and values, this energy would be used to intensify our gigantic project of systemic destruction of planetary life. Isn't that what we've set out to do—replace forests with supermarket parking lots, turn the planet into a landfill? What if, to cap it all, energy was free?

[...C]limate change has emerged as our most important ecological battle [...] because it is one that can perpetuate the delusional idea that we are faced with an engineering problem, in need of technological solutions. At the heart of current political and economic thought lies the idea that an ideal world would be a world in which we could continue to live in the same way, with fewer negative externalities. This is insane on several levels. Firstly because it is impossible. We can't have infinite growth in a finite world. We won't. But also, and more importantly, it is not desirable. Even if it were sustainable, the reality we construct is hell. [...]

It is often said that our Western world is desacralised. In reality, our civilisation treats the technosphere with almost devout reverence. And that's worse. We perceive the totality of reality through the prism of a hegemonic science, convinced that it “says” the only truth.

The problem is that technology is based on a very strange principle, so deeply ingrained in us that it remains unexpressed: no brakes are acceptable, what can be done must be done. We don't even bother to seriously and collectively debate the advisability of such "advances". We are under a spell. And we are avoiding the essential question: is this world in the making, standardised and computed, overbuilt and predictable, stripped of stars and birds, desirable?

To confine science to the search for "solutions" so we can continue down the same path is to lack both imagination and ambition. Because the “problem” we face doesn't seem to me, at this point, to be understood. No hope is possible if we don't start by questioning our assumptions, our values, our appetites, our symbols... [...] Let's stop pretending that the numerous and diverse human societies that have populated this planet did not exist. Certainly, some of them have taken the wrong route. But ours is the first to forge ahead towards guaranteed failure. »

— Aurélien Barrau, particle physicist and philosopher, in an interview in Télérama about his book L'Hypothèse K

[frances-baby-houseman]

“Our first few years of marriage were really hard, we sacrificed a lot,” she says. “But we did have this vision, this dream and —” Daniel interrupts: “We still do.” What kind of sacrifices, I ask her. “Well, I gave up dance, which was hard. You give up a piece of yourself. And Daniel gave up his career ambitions.”

I look out at the vastness and don’t totally agree. Daniel wanted to live in the great western wilds, so they did; he wanted to farm, so they do; he likes date nights once a week, so they go (they have a babysitter on those evenings); he didn’t want nannies in the house, so there aren’t any. The only space earmarked to be Neeleman’s own — a small barn she wanted to convert into a ballet studio — ended up becoming the kids’ schoolroom.

This is very, very good. Paywall free link. The epidural part was heartbreaking.

[lividstar]

🪐 — ♡ FROM SATURN TO MARS

៚ wc: 24.2k

៚ angst, fluff but not really, astronomer!san x stargazer!reader, star-crossed lovers, right person, wrong time, san is literally “☝️🤓” personified but it’s alright because he’s a sweetheart

៚ warnings: mentions of suic!de

៚ playlist !

៚ Life has always felt like a constant struggle for you, burdened by the weight of a terminal illness that looms over every moment. The concept of finding peace, of unwinding, seems as foreign as the distant stars. Each attempt to embrace the fleeting joys of life feels like an effort wasted, as the ever-present shadow of your inevitable end dims any flicker of hope. Despite countless reassurances that it’s worth trying to find solace, the reality is that the pain and fear remain ablaze. Living each day with the knowledge of your limited time, you’ve tried to hold onto the present, to ignite a spark of hope in the face of despair. But unlike others who find motivation in the idea of living life to the fullest, the idea only brings you more anguish. Every attempt to seek positivity feels hollow and unreachable when every breath is a reminder of what you're losing. Little did you know how much your world would change when you meet Choi San, an aspiring astronomer who just happens to be a boy full of wonders—ones you’ve always believed have already ceased to exist.

Dreams come in different forms and can mean a lot of things.

Dreams can be a fleeting memory playing throughout your unconsciousness, and it could be a reminder of what once was—a moment from your childhood wherein your feet are dragging you at a fast pace around the playground, crumbs of the sand slowly invading your shoes as you turn your head behind to check if the distance between you and your playmate is closing further, flashing them a teasing look with a huge smile on your face—ending just before the moment you trip on your own feet and wail over a dark bruise on your knee.

It could also convey a wish that you yearn to come true, a thread high up in the air that you desperately want to have a grasp of and pull down on your level. It could be an ambition that you want to achieve, an activity you wish to participate in in the near future, a famous attraction you dream of visiting one day—simply put, saying you have a dream could convey different implications.

But amidst its vast sea of meanings, we all, at some point, have, or have had a dream in common: to live a life different from our own.

Maybe it hits you when you’re standing on the second highest pillar of the podium, holding your silver medal while the one at the very top shamelessly dangles their gold prize with a bouquet in their hands. Maybe it hits you when you pass by a section of a mall featuring expensive artifacts and seeing people your age walk through the aisles so easily as if it’s not a new thing to them. Maybe it hits you when you look in the mirror after scrolling past the page of an influencer considered by the masses as the embodiment of beauty.

Or maybe it hits you every single time you realize you’re alone in the battle against you and the fate of your life.

You were born with a shadow hanging over your life, a rare, incurable illness that marked you from your very first breath. From the moment you entered the world, doctors surrounded you with words like “degenerative,” “terminal,” and “limited time,” their clinical detachment doing little to soften the blow. For your parents, it was a devastating revelation, turning what should have been a joyous occasion into a lifelong struggle against an invisible enemy.

As a child, you didn’t fully understand the weight of your condition. You grew up watching other children run and play, while you sat on the sidelines, your body betraying you in ways their carefree laughter could never comprehend. Frequent hospital visits and endless medical tests became the norm, each one a stark reminder of the battle raging within you. The disease, a silent thief, slowly sapped your strength and vitality, leaving you more fragile with each passing year.

Your family wrapped you in love and support, their concern palpable in every gentle touch and soft-spoken word. Yet, despite their efforts, the isolation was inescapable. Friends drifted away, unable to understand your world of limitations and restrictions. The future that once seemed bright and boundless was now a narrow path, shadowed by the inevitability of your illness.

Growing up, you learned to withdraw yourself from the world, seeking refuge in the confines of your room. The outside world, with its boundless energy and endless possibilities, felt like a mocking contrast to your shrinking existence. Even the well-meaning efforts of your family to uplift your spirits felt like hollow gestures, incapable of penetrating the thick fog of despair that seems to love embracing you. Optimism now seems pathetic for you to have—like a distant memory, a relic of a past life now unreachable.

“Have you heard about the upcoming meteor shower next week?” Your father’s voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the present. You glance up from the book you’re reading, curiosity piqued.

“Oh...?” You manage to respond, the word hanging in the air like a broken bridge between your world and theirs.

“I saw it on today’s news headline. Thought I’d break the news to you since you love those kinds of things,” he says, passing by the couch where you sat and ruffling your hair lightly.

That’s right.

The night sky, vast and unending, was your sanctuary. In the quiet hours when the world is quiet in a deep slumber, you’d find a profound sense of peace under its sprawling canopy. The stars, scattered like shimmering diamonds across the pitch black sky, spoke to you in a language that exceeds even the deepest of words. You felt a kinship with these distant suns, their light traveling across the eons to reach you, a solitary observer. Their constancy provided a stark contrast to the unpredictable ebb and flow of your life. While your body betrayed you, the stars remained steadfast, their glow unchanging and eternal. It was this constancy that you clung to, a fading glimmer of hope in your darkest hours.

Each night, you would sit by the window, wrapped in a blanket, eyes scanning the heavens for familiar patterns and new discoveries. The cool night air would brush against your skin, a gentle reminder of the world beyond your room, while the silence enveloped you in a cocoon of temporary peace.

During these moments, you’d feel a connection to something greater than yourself. The stars were not just distant balls of burning gas; they were ancient, ethereal, and eternal. They had witnessed the birth and death of galaxies, the rise and fall of civilizations. In their presence, your own life, with all its pain and brevity, seemed part of a larger image you could never be able to picture. You were all but a small thread in its grand design, and in a way, you’ve grown to find comfort in that knowledge.

The moon, in its phases, has become a symbol of your journey. Waxing and waning, it mirrored your own cycles of hope and despair. When it was full, you felt a surge of strength, a fleeting belief that perhaps you could overcome the odds. When it was new, you were reminded of the darkness that loomed, but also of the promise that light would return.

In the solitude of these nights, you allowed yourself to dream. Not of a future filled with pain and uncertainty, but of other worlds and possibilities. You imagined traveling among the stars, free from the confines of your ailing body. You pictured yourself as an explorer, charting the galaxies, uncovering the secrets of the universe. These dreams, though unrealistic, gave you a sense of purpose, a brief escape from the harsh reality you faced.

Your mother joins in on the conversation, momentarily placing the knife down on the cutting board as she peeked in the living room from where she stood in the kitchen. “I know an observatory somewhere in this town. If you want, I could take you there. It would be beautiful—the place would provide you a clear view of the night sky.” She smiles, waiting for your nod of agreement.

And when it didn’t come as she anticipated, she decided to walk around the kitchen corner, making a beeline to where you sat on the couch with a pillow placed on top of your crossed legs. The cushion beside you sinks as she occupies it, reaching for your hand settled down on the pillow to caress the back of it gently with her mildly calloused fingers.

“We don’t know for sure when the next meteor shower will occur, and… there’s not much time left,” your mother whispers hesitantly, and despite being certain that you’ve already gone numb, the look in her eyes initiates a crack in your heart.

“I know you hate the thought of going outside, but I don’t want you to miss out on this opportunity. Remember when you used to bug me everyday to make a meteor shower happen after I read a book about it to you?” she brings up a distant memory, and you find yourself traveling back in time to recall it.

Back then, when you were just a carefree child with no worries, still unaware of the cruelty that resides in the real world, you genuinely believed your mother was powerful enough to be capable of making a meteor shower occur.

Since you’ve always held fondness of the stars and so much so of your mother, you always saw her as some sort of a hero of high authority, sometimes even calling her ‘Deity of the Stars’ and making poorly drawn colored sketches of her in what you liked to call her hero suit. You swore it was realistic and highly possible back then, but now, you could no longer see it as anything more than a ridiculous superficial thought.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I did that…” you trailed off blankly, erupting a soft fit of laughter from your mother.

“Well, you were young. It was bound to happen. But anyway,” she shifted in her seat, holding your hand just a little tighter now. “Stargazing became your favorite thing to do after finding out about meteor showers, so… I think it would be nice to revisit a fragment of your childhood, won’t it?”

You stared into the void of nothingness, momentarily zoning out to consider your mother’s words. She was right, so right you couldn’t even bring yourself to be pessimistic and wish she wasn’t.

“I just… I want you to at least feel happiness again while we still have time left, and watching the meteor shower would be a good kick-start for that,” she said, and you gently tighten your grasp on her hand as well. If only you could yearn for your own happiness as much as she does for you.

Finally, you looked right into her eyes. “Okay,” you nod, the single word carrying the weight of your acceptance.

Your mother’s face lights up with a mixture of relief and sadness. “Great! Great, I… I can’t wait to take you there,” she beams with a shaky voice, and despite the wide smile on her lips, there were still tears falling down her eyes. She looks away as she attempts to wipe them out, and it shatters your heart even more.

Taking the pillow off your lap and placing it on the empty spot on your other side, you lean forward to engulf her in a heartfelt embrace, and she doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around you as well. She buries her face in your neck, the fabric of your shirt muffling her sobs of joy. You swore you had already gone numb, but this time, you feel a stray tear slowly fall down the skin of your face.

If you couldn’t bring yourself to experience the wonders of life for your own sake, then you’d do it for your parents.

—

The night before the meteor shower enveloped you in an eerie stillness, as if the world itself was holding its breath. You found yourself once again at the window, gazing out at the vast, star-speckled sky. The room was bathed in the faint glow of moonlight, casting a dim, silvery glow over everything. Outside, the symphony of crickets serenaded the night, their rhythmic chirping mingling with the soft hum of your room’s air conditioner. Occasionally, the rustling of your blanket as you shifted ever so slightly, trying to battle the cold evening air, broke the quiet atmosphere.

Whenever you’d find yourself in this scenario, looking up at the stars as their light glimmered and pierced through the inky darkness, a profound sense of calm would usually settle over you. The night sky had always been your refuge, a place where you could escape the harsh reality of your existence.

But tonight… tonight was different.

A heavy gloom began to seep into your thoughts, spreading through you like the thick ink of a quill spreading through a blank white paper. The beauty of the stars, which once brought solace, now seemed to mock your suffering. A wave of despair crashed over you, and your mind wandered to the inevitable end that awaited you.

The thought of your impending death hung over you like a dark cloud, casting a pall over the fleeting moments of joy you managed to grasp. It felt so unfair—so profoundly unjust—that your life had to be this way. You had dreams, aspirations, and desires just like anyone else, but they were perpetually out of reach, caged by the bars of your illness.

Why does it have to be this way? Why was such a cruel fate destined to be bound to you? It’s not like you asked to be born with such a disease—it’s not like you asked to be born. Everything that has ever happened to you your entire life has been against your will. For all the years you’ve spent in this world, you weren’t living—you were surviving.

You sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to echo in the silence of your room. The stars twinkled back at you, distant and untouchable. Your heart ached with the weight of your reality. How could you ever feel genuine happiness knowing that every moment was borrowed, that every smile was tinged with the bitterness of impermanence? The thought of letting go of everything you held dear gnawed at you relentlessly. It was a cruel joke, this life of yours, filled with fleeting moments of beauty overshadowed by an ever-present sense of doom.

Your thoughts then drifted to your parents. The sacrifices they had made, the countless nights they spent worrying about you, and the mountains of medical bills they had to pay—all of it weighed heavily on your conscience. You felt like a burden, an anchor dragging them down into an abyss of despair and financial ruin.

You leaned your forehead against the cool glass of the window, the weight of your guilt pressing down on you like a physical burden. It was a familiar feeling, one that had become an unwelcome companion over the years. The self-blame gnawed at you relentlessly, a persistent whisper in the back of your mind, telling you that you were the cause of all this pain.

This is all your fault.

This is all your fault.

This is all your fault.

Your thoughts eventually spiraled into a darker territory. If only you could just die sooner, you mused bitterly, then your parents wouldn’t have to endure this endless cycle of hope and despair. They could finally be free from the financial strain, the emotional turmoil, the constant fear of losing you. You envisioned them laughing together, their faces free from the lines of worry that had become so deeply etched into their features. They deserved that happiness, and you felt like you were stealing it from them.

It was so, so unfair on their behalf. All they ever wanted was to have a happy family—and then you let out your first breath and ruined everything.

The guilt was suffocating. It wrapped around your heart like a snake to its victim, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. You felt like a burden, a weight that your family had to carry, dragging them down with you into the bottom of the pit. The treatments, the surgeries, the endless doctor visits—they all felt like futile attempts to hold back the inevitable. And with each one, you saw the toll it took on your parents, the way their shoulders sagged a little more, their smiles became a little more forced.

You hated yourself for it. You hated that you were the cause of their suffering. You hated that you couldn’t be the healthy, carefree child they deserved. The resentment you felt towards your own body was a constant undercurrent, a bitter poison that tainted every moment of your life. How could you ever bring yourself to feel happy when your very existence seemed to be the source of so much pain?

The stars outside your window blurred as tears filled your eyes. You blinked them away, but they kept coming, hot and insistent. The enormity of your guilt was overwhelming, an ocean that would haunt you almost every single day. You wished, more than anything, that you could be someone else—someone who could bring joy instead of sorrow, hope instead of despair.

But you weren’t. You were trapped in this failing body, watching as your parents’ lives were consumed by your illness. The knowledge that you were the cause of their suffering was a wound that never healed, a constant ache that you carried with you every day. And it made the prospect of finding happiness feel impossible, a distant dream that you could never reach.

You clenched your fists, the frustration and anger boiling up inside you. Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t you be normal, healthy, free? The unfairness of it all was like a knife twisting in your gut, sharp and fresh as it draws blood from your insides. You didn’t ask for this life, this body, this fate. And yet, you were the one who had to live it, the one who had to endure it all because it’s the only thing you can do.

You longed desperately for a sign, something to tell you that there was a reason to keep going. You searched the night sky for it, hoping that maybe the stars, your silent companions, would offer you some form of guidance or comfort. But they remained silent, providing no answers to the questions that have been disturbing your mind.

Oftentimes, you found yourself wondering why you were still holding on. Why not just let go, end the suffering now? The thought of slipping away, of finding peace in the nothingness, was a tempting escape. What was the point of all this suffering? Why continue to drag yourself through each day when the end was inevitable and so painfully near?

But then, once more, you thought of your parents. The image of their faces, worn with worry and exhaustion, flashed before your eyes. They have sacrificed so much for you—time, money, their own happiness—all in the hope of giving you a chance at life. You couldn’t bear the thought of their sacrifices being in vain. You couldn’t stand the idea of their grief and guilt if you gave up now.

It was this thought, more than anything else, that kept your will to stay in this world going. You didn’t want their efforts to be wasted, didn’t want the countless hours spent in hospitals and the endless piles of medical bills to be for nothing. Their love for you was evident in every exhausted smile, every gentle touch, every whispered word of encouragement. You couldn’t repay them by giving up.

You needed a sign, something to break through the darkness and give you a reason to keep going. You needed to believe that there was more to life than this endless suffering, that there was still something worth fighting for. But each day that passed without such a sign left you feeling more hopeless, more resigned to your fate.

The thought of the upcoming meteor shower lingered in your mind. Perhaps, just perhaps, it would provide the solace you so desperately craved. Maybe standing beneath the falling stars would bring you a sense of peace, a glimpse of the beauty that still existed in the world despite your pain.

Maybe there, you’d find the sign you’ve been helplessly looking for, a reason to hold on for just a little longer.

—

You wake up in the afternoon, the sunlight passing softly through your bedroom curtains, painting gentle shadows on the walls. Stretching, you slowly make your way to the living room, drawn by the sounds of clinking pots and the savory aroma wafting from the kitchen. As you enter, you see your parents in the kitchen, working together as they prepare what seems to be an extravagant feast.

“Mom? Dad?” you call out, your voice slightly raspy from sleep.

They turn their heads toward you, their faces lighting up with warm smiles. But their expressions quickly shift to concern as they notice your puffy eyes, the lingering evidence of last night’s tears.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, trying to mask your emotions.

Your father steps out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He walks over to you, his eyes filled with gentle worry. “Were you crying last night?” he asks softly, his voice a tender blend of concern and love.

You shake your head quickly, turning his words down. “No, no, I’m fine. I just… overslept, that’s probably why my eyes are puffy.” The lie feels heavy on your tongue, but you can’t bear to add to their worries.

Your father doesn’t push further, though it’s clear he doesn’t believe you. Instead, he switches the topic, his tone turning lighter. “We’re cooking up quite a feast today. Your mom got a little carried away, I think,” he says with a chuckle.

You glance over at the kitchen, the counters filled with various ingredients and dishes in different stages of preparation. “What’s all this for?” you ask, puzzled.

Your mother turns from the stove, her face bright with a mixture of excitement and something deeper, something sadder. “Today’s a big day for you, since you’ll be going out tonight,” she says, her eyes shining. “We couldn’t help but get a little excited and maybe go a bit overboard.”

You furrow your brow, confused. “Why? I know there’s a meteor shower, but what’s so special about me watching it?”

Your parents exchange a glance, a silent conversation passing between them, filled with unspoken words and shared sorrow. Your mother turns off the stove and walks over to you, her expression softening with a bittersweet smile. She reaches out and takes your hands in hers, leading you to the couch where the three of you sit down together.

“Honey,” she begins, her voice gentle but firm, “we know how hard things have been for you. And we know how much you love the stars. This meteor shower… it’s not just any event. It’s something special, something that we hope will bring you a bit of joy, even if just for a moment.”

Your father nods, his eyes glistening with emotions. “We wanted to make today special for you because… because we love you. We want you to have something to hold onto, a memory that’s beautiful and bright, like the stars you love so much.”

Your mother squeezes your hands, her eyes searching yours. “You’ve been so strong, so brave. We see how much you’re hurting, and we just want to give you a piece of happiness, something that can shine through the darkness.”

Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. “But… why go through all this trouble?” you ask, your voice slightly shaking.

Your mother flashes you a gentle smile. “Because you, my dear, mean the world to us. If doing all this could potentially be a way to help you find the light inside of you, then it’s not something we’ll deem troublesome at all.”

Your father wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “You’re not alone in this, sweetheart. We’re here with you, every step of the way. And tonight, we want to share the magic of the stars with you, to remind you that there’s still beauty and wonder in the world, no matter how hard things get.”

The weight of their words settles over you, a mixture of overwhelming love and a deep, aching sadness. You feel their sincerity, their desire to give you something beautiful, something that transcends the pain. And in that moment, you realize that this night, this meteor shower, is more than just an event. It’s a symbol of their unending love, their hope, and their determination to make your life a little brighter, even if only for a short while.

When you’re all finally seated at the dining table, the array of dishes laid out before you, there’s a tangible air of celebration mixed with a touch of melancholy. The scents of home-cooked food fill the room, and your parents’ faces are illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the overhead light.

As you begin to eat, the conversation flows naturally at first, revolving around the familiar comfort of family and the minutiae of daily life. But soon, your parents gently steer the discussion toward the evening ahead.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” your father asks, his tone light and casual, though his eyes are watchful.

You look up from your plate, feeling the weight of their expectations. “Just watching the meteor shower, I guess,” you say before turning your attention back on slicing the steak laid out in front of you, your voice steady but devoid of enthusiasm.

Your mother leans forward slightly, a hopeful smile on her face. “Maybe after we watch the meteor shower, we could stop by that new fast-food restaurant that opened last month. I hear their milkshakes are amazing.”

You offer a small, polite smile in return, shaking your head. “I think I’ll stick to just watching the meteor shower tonight.”

There’s a brief silence, the only sounds coming from the clinking of silverware against plates and the faint hum of the refrigerator. Your parents exchange a glance, their faces reflecting a mix of disappointment and understanding.

Your father tries again, his voice gentle. “Or we could swing by the mall for a little while. They’ve decorated for the season, and it might be nice to walk around, maybe do some window shopping.”

You feel the sincerity in his words, the genuine desire to make your evening special. But for now, the thought of venturing beyond the observatory, of facing the bustling energy of the outside world, feels overwhelming.

“Thanks, Dad,” you reply, your tone soft but firm. “But really, just the meteor shower is enough for me.”

Your mother reaches across the table, her hand covering yours. “We understand,” she says, her voice filled with a mixture of love and sorrow. “Baby steps, right?”

You nod, grateful for her understanding. “Yeah… baby steps.”

They continue to eat, the conversation shifting back to more mundane topics, but the undercurrent of their hopes for you lingers in the air. They don’t press further, recognizing that perhaps tonight, simply watching the meteor shower is as much as you can manage. Their sadness is evident, but it’s tempered by their acceptance, their willingness to let you take things at your own pace.

When the night falls, the air is filled with a sense of anticipation as the three of you prepare for the journey to the observatory. You find yourself in your room, standing before the wardrobe that holds the outdoor clothes your parents have bought for you throughout the years. Clothes that, for the most part, have only seen the light of day during hospital visits for your monthly checkups.

You reach for a long, dirty white dress adorned with a delicate pattern of tiny roses. It’s simple, yet beautiful—a piece that speaks to the girl you wish you could be, one full of dreams and wonder. You pair it with a dark red knitted cardigan, the warm hue adding a touch of vibrancy to your outfit. A pair of shoes, carefully chosen to match, complete your ensemble.

Deciding to fix yourself up a little, you apply a light amount of makeup. As you gaze at your reflection in the mirror, you’re struck by a strange mix of emotions. There’s a hint of the person you could have been, the life you might have led.

As if on cue, there’s a soft knock on your door. “Are you finished preparing?” your mother’s voice calls from the hallway.

“You can come in,” you reply, turning to face the door. And when she enters, she’s nearly brought to tears at the sight of you.

“You look so beautiful,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. She crosses the room in a few quick strides, enveloping you in a warm, heartfelt embrace. Though you’re confused by the intensity of her reaction, you hug her back, your arms wrapping around her with equal tenderness.

When she finally pulls away, she cups your face in her hands, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m so, so, so proud of you,” she says, her voice trembling with sincerity.

You offer her a small, genuine smile, your hands reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Thanks, Mom.”

Together, you make your way downstairs. Your father is waiting on the couch, his eyes lighting up when he sees you. “You look amazing,” he says, his voice filled with genuine awe. He stands and wraps you in a hug as well, his embrace warm and reassuring.

They really do love you dearly, and it makes your heart swell with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. It’s moments like these that remind you of the depth of their love, their unwavering support despite the countless hardships they have to face.

Soon, you’re all in your father’s car, the engine purring as you set off towards the observatory. The drive is serene, the world outside bathed in the soft glow of streetlights and the distant shimmer of stars. Your parents, sensing your nervousness, try to distract you with gentle conversation.

“Did you know that the observatory was built over a hundred years ago?” your dad asks, his tone light and engaging. “It’s seen countless meteor showers and celestial events. It’s almost like it has a history of its own.”

“Really?” you reply, your curiosity piqued. “That’s interesting.”

Your mom chimes in, her voice soft and soothing. “I read somewhere that watching a meteor shower is supposed to bring good luck. Maybe tonight will bring something special for all of us.”

You nod, giving her a small smile. Their efforts to lighten your mood are not lost on you, and though the anxiety still lingers, you feel a bit more at ease.

As the car winds its way through the darkened roads, you find yourself staring out the window, the stars above a silent reminder of the night ahead. You cling to the hope that this evening, beneath the vast expanse of the sky, something will shift—perhaps the night will end with you finally having a reason to hold on just a little longer.

When you finally arrive, you see the observatory perched in the middle of a grassy field atop a hill. The area around it is alive with people setting up blankets, reclining lawn chairs, and chatting as they wait for the meteor shower to begin. Some have chosen to stay inside the observatory, where telescopes and guided explanations promise a closer look at the sky.

You and your parents head towards the observatory, but something inside you makes you hesitate. The idea of watching the meteor shower while lying on the grass, feeling the earth beneath you and the sky above, seems more intimate and appealing.

“I think I’d like to watch it from here,” you tell your parents, glancing at the open field.

They exchange a look of concern. “Are you sure?” your father asks, hesitation evident in his voice.

You nod, offering a reassuring smile. “Yeah. You two should go inside. I’ll be fine out here. Baby steps, right?”

Your mother looks at you for a long moment, and a heartwarming smile finds its way to her lips. She was so, so proud of you. “Alright. We’ll be inside if you need us. Just come find us when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you promise, and with that, they head towards the observatory.

You spread out a blanket on the grass and sit down, the night air cool against your skin. Around you, groups of friends, families, and couples chatter excitedly. You can hear the hum of their conversations, the occasional burst of laughter, and the low murmur of anticipation. Despite the crowds, you feel a profound sense of solitude.

The meteor shower begins, and you crane your neck, squinting at the sky, but you can’t see anything. Frustration starts to build, knotting in your chest. Just as you’re about to give up, a voice speaks from behind you.

“You might want to use a telescope for that.”

You turn around, startled. Standing behind you is a fairly attractive young man. He’s wearing a white shirt with a flannel over it and black pants, framed glasses perched on his nose. His presence is unexpected but you don’t speak against it nevertheless, and he gives you a warm, easy smile.

“Here,” he says, sitting down beside you and handing you a small telescope.

You take it hesitantly, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. “Uh… thank you,” you mumble awkwardly—understandably so as you don’t exactly know how to talk to anyone who isn’t your family or your doctor, bringing the telescope to your eye. As you adjust the focus, the sky bursts into clarity, and you see a streak of light arc across the darkness—a meteor.

“Wow,” you whisper, unable to tear your gaze away.

The young man chuckles softly beside you. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

For a while, the two of you sit in companionable silence, watching the sky. Each meteor that blazes across the heavens feels like a small miracle, a moment of beauty in a world that often seems so harsh and unkind.

He breaks the silence, his voice gentle and filled with enthusiasm. “You know, this year’s meteor shower is part of the Perseids. They’re actually debris left behind by the comet Swift-Tuttle, which orbits the sun every 133 years. The meteors you’re seeing tonight are fragments of that comet burning up in Earth’s atmosphere.”

You put down the telescope for a moment and look at him, intrigued but unsure how to respond. His knowledge and passion are evident, and you don’t want to interrupt or discourage him. Fortunately, he seems to notice your silence and continues, his excitement growing as he speaks.

“It’s one of the most spectacular meteor showers because the particles hit the atmosphere at over 133,000 miles per hour, creating these bright, fast streaks of light. And on a good night, like tonight, you can see up to a hundred meteors per hour.”

Wanting to add your own contribution to the conversation so you wouldn’t seem like you’re just putting up with him, you say, “You seem to know a lot about astronomy.”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling into crescents. He shyly rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I’m an aspiring astronomer, so…”

“Really?” You react to the unexpected newfound knowledge about this stranger with genuine surprise, your interest being genuinely piqued.

“Yeah,” he says, his smile widening. “Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been obsessed with the night sky. There’s just something about the vastness of space, the mystery of it all, that makes me feel... connected, I guess. Like, there’s so much more out there, you know?”

“I’ve always loved the stars too,” you admit quietly, almost as if sharing a secret. “They make me feel... less alone.”

His eyes soften and you’re not sure how you were able to see it happening clearly even though your surroundings are dim and the reflection of the distant lights cover the lens of his glasses—not to mention the strands of his hair at the very front framing his face, and he nods. “Exactly. It’s like looking at the stars makes everything else seem smaller, less overwhelming.”

Feeling an unexpected sense of ease, you shift slightly to face him a little more, curiosity bubbling up inside you. “Do you know any interesting facts about astronomy?” you ask, your voice tinged with genuine interest.

It was refreshing hearing him talk so passionately about this year’s meteor shower, telling you about facts you were certain not even a quarter of the people in here—save for the astronomers—know of, and you’re not sure why, but it made you want to hear him share his knowledge with you more.

He looks at you, momentarily puzzled. “Like... anything? Anything at all?”

You nod eagerly. “Yeah. I mean… I love stargazing, but I don’t really know much about astronomy itself. I just think the night sky is comforting and looks pretty.”

A warm smile spreads across his face, and he seems delighted by your interest. “Well, where to start?” He takes a moment to think. “Did you know that the Sun, our own star, produces the energy equivalent of 100 billion nuclear bombs every second through nuclear fusion in its core? Or that neutron stars, which are the remnants of supernovae, can spin up to 500 times per second? They're incredibly dense—a single teaspoon of neutron star material would weigh about a billion tons!”

He was practically beaming while sharing the facts about astronomy he knows of, and it drives your curiosity—despite being unsure if it’s directed to any further knowledge from him or to the young man himself—even further.

“That’s insane," you say in genuine astonishment. “How do neutron stars spin so fast? And… how can something be that dense? I can’t even imagine it.”

His eyes light up, clearly pleased by your genuine interest. “Neutron stars are fascinating, right? Their rapid rotation is due to the conservation of angular momentum. When the core of a massive star collapses in a supernova, it retains its angular momentum but its radius shrinks dramatically, causing it to spin much faster—kind of like how a figure skater spins faster when they pull their arms in.”

“And the density?” you press, leaning in slightly.

“Well,” he continues, “neutron stars are composed almost entirely of neutrons, which are packed so closely together that their density becomes astronomical. It’s mind-blowing to think about, but it’s because all the empty space between atoms gets eliminated, leaving just the neutrons packed together.”

His passion for astronomy is contagious, and as he explains the wonders of neutron stars, you can’t help but be impressed by his vast knowledge. You find yourself wondering just how long and often he studies, as it’s a fascinating sight to see someone so dedicated to their passion. In a way, you envy that trait—it’s something you’ve longed for in your own life.

“Neutron stars are just one example,” he continues speaking, oblivious to your internal musings. “The universe is full of these mind-boggling phenomena that challenge our understanding of physics and reality.”

You watch him, noting the excitement in his voice, the way his eyes sparkle as he speaks. It’s clear that he lives and breathes this subject, and his enthusiasm is infectious. There’s something comforting about his dedication, a reminder that there are people out there who are deeply connected to their passions.

His eyes twinkle with curiosity as he asks, “Do you have any favorite constellations in particular?” You tilt your head, wondering where this is going. “Why do you ask?”

He grins. “I want to see if I have any interesting facts about it. I’ve read a lot about constellations, so I’m curious if I can tell you something new about your favorite.” You think for a moment before replying, “Orion. I’ve always liked Orion.”

His face lights up. “Orion, the Hunter! That's a great choice. Did you know that the stars in Orion's Belt—Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka—are all blue supergiants? They’re incredibly hot and massive, much more so than our Sun.”

He continues, “Betelgeuse, the red supergiant that marks one of Orion’s shoulders, is fascinating too. It’s so large that if it were placed in the center of our solar system, its surface would extend beyond the orbit of Mars. Betelgeuse is also a semiregular variable star, meaning its brightness changes over time. Astronomers think it could go supernova anytime within the next million years, which in cosmic terms is pretty soon.”

He then dived deeper into the lore and facts about Orion, his enthusiasm evident. “Then there’s Rigel, Orion’s other shoulder star. It’s a blue supergiant about 870 light-years away from us. It’s one of the brightest stars in our sky, around 120,000 times more luminous than the Sun. But it’s not just one star—Rigel is actually a star system with at least three components, possibly even more. There’s Rigel A, the supergiant, and a pair of smaller stars that orbit around it.”

You listen intently, drawn in by his enthusiasm. As he continues to talk, you can’t help but be captivated by the depth of his knowledge. He speaks with such passion and ease, and you wonder just how long and often he must study astronomy to know so much. It’s a stark contrast to your own experiences, where your illness has often overshadowed any pursuit of hobbies or interests.

“Another fascinating thing is that Orion’s Belt aligns almost perfectly with the pyramids of Giza in Egypt. This alignment has sparked numerous theories and legends about ancient civilizations and their connection to the stars. Some believe the pyramids were built to mirror the constellation, symbolizing a connection between Earth and the heavens,” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping as if sharing a secret.

You find yourself thinking about how amazing it is to see someone so deeply invested in something. His eyes light up with every new fact he shares, his excitement palpable. It makes you feel a twinge of envy; you wish you could have such a passion, something that drives you and fills you with purpose.

“And there’s more,” he continues, “The Horsehead Nebula, which is part of the Orion Molecular Cloud Complex, is a dark nebula located just south of Alnitak, the leftmost star in Orion’s Belt. It's named for its distinctive shape, which looks like the head of a horse. It’s a fascinating area of space where new stars are being born.”

You listen, mesmerized not just by the information but by the boy himself. There’s something inspiring about his dedication and the way he finds joy in the cosmos. For a moment, your own struggles seem distant, replaced by a curiosity and a desire to know more.

“Wow, I had no idea there was so much to Orion,” you say, genuinely impressed. He smiles, his eyes still twinkling. “There’s always more to learn and discover. That’s what I love about astronomy—it constantly reminds me how vast and mysterious our universe is.”

Just as you practically feel that he’s about to steer the conversation towards you and ask if there’s anything you’re passionate about, you’re quick on your feet to beat him to it, “Why do you want to become an astronomer? Why are you so dedicated to it?”

He pauses, his expression softening as he considers your question. “It’s a long story,” he begins, his eyes flickering to the stars above. “But the short version is, I’ve always been fascinated by the night sky. When I was a kid, my parents got me a telescope for my birthday. I remember the first time I saw the rings of Saturn—I was completely hooked.”

You watch him closely, noticing the way his features light up with each word. There’s a deep-seated passion in his voice, a genuine love for the subject he spoke of.

“My grandfather was a big influence too,” he continues. “He used to take me out to this old observatory near our house. We’d spend hours there, just looking at the stars and talking about the universe. He’d tell me stories about constellations and the myths behind them. Those moments felt magical, and they sparked a curiosity in me that never went away.”

He glances at you, a small, wistful smile appearing on his lips. “As I grew older, I realized that astronomy wasn’t just about looking at pretty stars. It’s about understanding our place in the universe, exploring the unknown, and constantly challenging what we think we know. There’s so much out there that we haven’t discovered yet, and that’s what drives me. The idea that, no matter how much we learn, there’s always more to uncover.”

You nod slowly, captivated by his words. It’s clear that his dedication to astronomy isn’t just about the science; it’s about the wonder and endless possibilities the universe holds.

“And I guess,” he adds, his voice softer, “it’s also a way to keep that connection with my grandfather alive. Every time I look through a telescope, it feels like he’s there with me, sharing that moment."

“That’s incredible,” you say, your voice filled with genuine admiration. “It’s amazing how something like a childhood gift can shape your entire life.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and comforting. “Yeah, it’s funny how life works out sometimes. Well… what about you? Do you have anything you’re passionate about?”

You hesitate, looking down at the grass, the weight of your own struggles pressing on your shoulders. “There’s nothing in particular that I hold any sort of passion for,” you admit hesitantly. “It just feels pointless. There’s not enough time for me to explore anything, and even if I did, it would all go to waste in the end anyway. So, I never really bothered to try.”

The young man listens intently, his expression thoughtful. “I understand,” he begins, choosing his words carefully. “It’s easy to get overwhelmed by the idea of how things might end, especially when you feel like you have limited time. But sometimes, it’s not about the end result; it’s about the moments in between. Focusing on what’s happening right now, what’s right in front of you, can make all the difference."

You let out a small sigh, feeling a mix of frustration and sadness. He doesn’t understand at all—but he’s not at fault for that. “That’s easier said than done.”

He nods in agreement. “Well, you’re right. It is easier said than done. But, hey, there’s always a first time for everything, and this could be one of those times. Starting small can make it more manageable.”

“But what’s the point in doing all that, anyway?” you ask, a hint of resignation in your voice.

He leans in slightly, his gaze warm and full of hope—a stark contrast to yours that are devoid of emotion. “The point is to find those little moments of joy and meaning, even if they seem insignificant. Maybe it starts with something as simple as taking a walk in the park, trying out a new flavor of your favorite food, or experimenting with a different style than what you're used to. These small steps can lead to new experiences and, who knows, maybe even a newfound passion.”

He continues speaking, “It’s about creating moments that matter to you, no matter how small they might seem. And maybe, over time, those moments will add up to something bigger, something meaningful.”

You look at him and, without much emotion, remark, “You seem to be a really sentimental and optimistic person.”

He blushes slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I try to see the bright side in everything. It’s not always easy, but I believe there’s always something good, even in the toughest situations.”

Is there?

You hesitate, then ask, “But what if you come across a situation where it’s impossible to see the bright side? What would you do then?”

His smile falters for a moment, and he looks thoughtful. “That’s a tough question,” he admits. “I think, in those moments, it’s about finding any sliver of hope you can, no matter how small. Sometimes, it’s not about seeing the bright side immediately but about holding on until things start to make sense. It might mean leaning on others for support, finding strength in small victories, or just surviving one day at a time.”

You glance down, digesting his words. They resonate with you more deeply than you expected. Though he doesn’t know it, he is describing your life—the struggle, the search for any small piece of hope.

He continues, his voice softer. “There are times when the world seems overwhelmingly dark, and in those times, it’s okay to acknowledge that it’s hard. But I believe there’s always a way forward, even if it’s just a tiny step at a time.”

“But what if you can’t find any sliver of hope because there’s none in the first place?” you ask, your voice tinted with a mix of frustration and resignation.

He pauses, as if he’s beginning to sense the weight of your words. “Are you… speaking from a personal perspective?” he asks gently, afraid to hit any sore spot.

You look down at the grass, avoiding his gaze. The silence stretches, and he takes it as a sign to answer.

“Well, sometimes, it feels like there’s no hope at all,” he begins carefully. “I’ve had moments like that, where everything seems bleak. When that happens, I try to remember that feelings are temporary, even the worst ones. It might not seem like it now, but change is the only constant. If you can’t find hope in your current situation, maybe it can come from something small, something outside of the immediate struggle.”

He shifted slightly closer, playing with the lace of his shoe while he sat cross-legged. “It might be a smile from a stranger, a kind word from a friend, or even a moment like this, where you’re sharing your thoughts with someone. Those tiny moments of connection can sometimes provide the sliver of hope we need to keep going.”

You remain silent, processing his words. He continues, “And if you can’t see any hope right now, that’s okay. Sometimes, we have to lean on others to help us find it. You don’t have to carry the burden alone. There are people who care about you and want to help.”

“Do you think there’s hope left for those with a doomed fate?” you ask, your voice coming out as a whisper, filled with an unspoken plea for reassurance.

He falls silent for a moment, contemplating your question. “Hope is a complicated thing,” he begins slowly. “Even in the darkest of times, hope can be the smallest of lights. It’s not always about finding a way to change your fate, but rather finding a way to live despite it.”

He looks up at the sky, his eyes reflecting the faint glow of the stars. “I believe that even when someone’s fate seems doomed, there can still be moments of beauty, connection, and meaning. Those moments might not change the outcome, but they can change the experience of the journey. It’s about making the most of the time you have, no matter how limited it may be. It can be as simple as watching a meteor shower with someone who cares, or as profound as realizing that your life, however brief, has touched others in ways you might never fully understand.”

You listen, his words weaving through the heavy fog of your thoughts. His sincerity offers a glimmer of comfort, a reminder that even in a seemingly hopeless situation, there can still be a reason to hold on, even if just for a little while longer.

Suddenly, your conversation with him is interrupted by the distant call of your mother. Both of you glance back towards the source of the voice. The realization hits you that it’s time to go home. You turn back to him, a slight reluctance in your eyes.

“It’s getting late. I should probably head home,” you say, standing up and brushing the grass off your dress. The cool night air feels heavier now, carrying with it a sense of the evening coming to an end. “You should too.”

He remains seated, his eyes fixed on you with a warm smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he replies, but makes no immediate move to get up. There’s a quiet understanding in his gaze, an acknowledgment of the fleeting yet meaningful connection you’ve shared.

You both wave goodbye, and you add, “Thanks… for talking to me. It was nice meeting you.”

“It was nice meeting you too,” he says while smiling, still seated, watching you walk away, his eyes following your every step.

As you approach your parents, their broad smiles greet you, filled with a mix of curiosity and pride. “What’s the matter?” you ask with genuine curiosity.

“Did you make a new friend?” your mother inquires, her eyes sparkling with hope and a touch of relief.

At the mention of the young man, you glance back towards where you left him. He’s now engrossed in his telescope, scanning the night sky with the same passion that drew you to him in the first place. You turn back to your parents with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m not really sure.”

Your father places a gentle hand on your shoulder, his grip warm and reassuring. “We’re proud of you for trying to talk to someone new,” he says, his voice filled with encouragement.

Your mother nods in agreement, her smile soft and understanding. “It’s a big step, and we’re just glad you took it.”

On the ride home, the car is filled with a comfortable silence, the kind that allows thoughts to flow freely. You find yourself replaying the stranger’s words over and over in your mind. His perspective on life, his deep passion for astronomy, and his hopeful outlook seem to carve out a small but significant space in your heart. His advice to focus on the present rather than the daunting future lingers, a beacon of light in your often dark and uncertain world.

As the car rolls through the quiet streets, you glance out the window at the night sky. The stars seem a bit brighter now, each one a reminder of the infinite possibilities that exist, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

Suddenly, a realization hits you, pulling you out of your reverie. You didn’t get to ask him what his name was. A pang of regret settles in your chest, mingling with the residual warmth of the evening. You wonder if you’ll ever see him again, or if this brief encounter will remain just a fleeting, albeit impactful, memory.

For the first time in a long while, you feel a tiny flicker of something akin to hope. It’s fragile and tentative, but it’s there, nestled in the corner of your mind, whispering that maybe, just maybe, there’s more to life than the bleakness you’ve grown accustomed to.

For once, the shooting stars have heard your wish to be given a sign to keep going.

—

A few days later, you find yourself under that dark cloud of sadness again. It always strikes at the most unexpected times—like now, while you’re in the shower. The water droplets sprinkling from the showerhead feel more like a deluge, and you can’t shake the sensation of being drowned by your own thoughts. The sadness, always lurking in the background, engulfs you completely. You turn off the shower, the silence of the room only amplifying the roar of your thoughts. Leaning against the tiled walls, you tilt your head back, as if trying to prevent the tears from falling. Just as the dam is about to break, a voice echoes in your mind—his voice, almost as if on cue.

“I believe that even when someone’s fate seems doomed, there can still be moments of beauty, connection, and meaning. Those moments might not change the outcome, but they can change the experience of the journey. It’s about making the most of the time you have, no matter how limited it may be.”

His words cut through the darkness, offering a glimmer of light. Making the most of your time... no matter how limited it may be. You remember him mentioning the small steps you can take: going on a walk, trying out new things. An idea starts to form, slowly but surely.

After finishing your shower, you head to your room. A staring contest with your closet ensues as you ponder what would be appropriate for a day at the park. Once you settle on something comfortable yet presentable and finish fixing yourself up, you walk to the living room, where only your father was found as your mother was away for work. The sight of you fully dressed up surprises him—in a good way.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, trying to mask his astonishment.

Shyly, you respond, “Can you drive me to the park?”

Your father’s eyes widen in surprise, and you can see he’s holding back tears. His voice choked with emotion, happily agreeing. “Of course! I mean, of course, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

His pride and happiness is palpable, and for the first time in a long while, you feel a small sense of accomplishment. It’s a tiny step, but it’s the beginning of something new. As you walk towards the door with your father, the young man’s words continue to echo in your mind.

On the drive to the park, you gaze out the window, watching the world pass by. The trees blur together, and the sky stretches out infinitely, offering a sense of calm. The hum of the car is soothing, and for a moment, you let yourself be enveloped by the tranquility.

Your father, hands steady on the wheel, breaks the silence with a gentle question. “What made you want to go to the park today?”

Turning to him, you muster a small smile, so faint it could barely be seen. “Just... making the most out of the time I have left,” you shrug.

Your father glances at you, his eyes softening with a mix of pride and sadness. He doesn’t say anything, but his expression speaks volumes. He’s grateful to see you taking steps, no matter how small, towards finding some semblance of joy or normalcy.

As the car continues down the road, the significance of this simple outing begins to settle in. It’s not just a trip to the park; it’s a step towards living, towards reclaiming moments that were lost in the shadow of illness and despair.

When you finally arrive at the park, you take a deep breath, ready to embrace whatever this new experience might bring. For now, you’re just a girl, standing in a park, making the most of the time she has, and that’s enough.

Your father gives you a reassuring smile. “Make sure you message me when you’re ready to be picked up, okay?” You nod, trying to mirror his smile. “I will.”

He waves goodbye as you step out of the car, and suddenly, you’re alone. Taking small steps, the outside world feels almost unfamiliar. People are everywhere—couples, friends, families. Pets chase each other around, vendors sell a variety of foods, and the trees provide a gentle, comforting breeze.

You stroll through the park, slowly taking in your surroundings. Every step is cautious because this isn’t exactly familiar territory. But you remind yourself—baby steps. This is a new experience, and you deserve to cut yourself some slack.

Lost in your thoughts, you wander through the park, hardly noticing as the density of people around you gradually increases. The noise rises, a symphony of chatter, laughter, and footsteps, becoming more unbearable with each step you take. It’s as if the sound waves themselves are pressing against your skin, squeezing tighter with each passing second.

Suddenly, the environment feels overwhelmingly loud. Anxiety hits you like a tidal wave, swift and unrelenting as you begin to realize what you wish had just gone over your head: you are alone in a place you’ve never stepped foot on before.

Your heart races, pounding in your chest with such force that you fear it might explode. Every noise seems amplified, and every glance from a passerby feels like a spotlight trained on you. The world around you blurs and narrows into a tunnel vision where only the threat of being watched remains clear.

Your breaths become shallow, rapid, and each inhale feels like it barely reaches your lungs. You place a trembling hand on your chest, trying to ground yourself, but it only seems to make the panic more palpable. Your throat tightens, making it hard to swallow, and a cold sweat breaks out on your forehead. Tears well up, stinging your eyes as the sense of doom takes hold.

Your legs feel unsteady, almost as if they might give out beneath you at any moment. The crowd seems to close in, the once little groups of people now a suffocating mass. The world around you distorts, sounds warping into an unintelligible hum. You feel disconnected from your body, as if you’re watching yourself from a distance, helpless to stop the panic that courses through you.

Just as you begin to take a step back, desperate to escape, you collide with something solid. It’s a person’s back, and when you turn, you see the broad figure of a man wearing a black fitted turtleneck. You’re about to flee, but he turns, his expression initially one of surprise.

“Oh, sorry—”

Then recognition dawns on both your faces. It’s the young man from the observatory. He sees the panic in your eyes, the hand clutching at your heart, the tears threatening to spill over. His face softens, concern replacing surprise, and he steps closer, his presence grounding in the midst of your chaos.

“Hey, are you okay?” His voice is a lifeline.

You can’t trust yourself to speak, so you just shake your head, eyes wide and pleading. For a moment, you catch a glimpse of the expression you held on your reflection on the lens of his glasses, and it drives you into despair even further.

He cautiously steps even closer, his voice low and soothing. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You're safe. Just breathe with me, alright? In and out.”

He starts to breathe slowly and deeply, demonstrating for you. At first, it’s hard to match his calm rhythm, but focusing on his steady breaths helps. Gradually, your own breathing slows, deepens, the frantic pounding in your chest easing slightly.

He keeps his gaze locked on yours, his voice a constant, comforting murmur. “You’re doing great. Just keep breathing.”

The world begins to settle back into place. The noise recedes, and the faces in the crowd become less threatening. Your breaths come easier, the tightness in your chest loosening its grip. Tears that were on the brink of falling retreat, leaving your eyes wet but no longer overflowing.

His eyes remain warm, filled with genuine concern. “Do you want to sit down for a bit?” he suggests, certain that you needed a little more time to calm down. You hesitate for a moment, then nod in agreement.

He leads you to a nearby bench, his presence bringing a somewhat calming aura as he sits beside you. He tries to engage you in small talk, attempting to distract you from your overwhelming thoughts. “So, what brings you to the park today?” he asks gently.

You fiddle with your fingers on your lap, grateful for the normalcy of the question and the fact that he seems to be trying to distract you from your thoughts.

“I followed your advice from that night at the observatory,” you explain. “You talked about making the most of the time I have left by trying out new things. I remembered that and decided to come here.”

He looks genuinely surprised. “Really? I didn’t expect you to remember that, let alone follow it.”

You offer a small nod. “This morning, I was feeling down, and your words just came to me. That’s when I decided to come here. But I wasn’t expecting it to be so… hard. I’ve barely been here thirty minutes and I already had an anxiety attack.”

His expression softens with understanding. “It’s completely normal to feel that way. Huge crowds can be really overwhelming, especially if you’re not used to them.”

He pauses, sensing there’s more to your anxiety but refrains from pressing further. Instead, he offers a supportive presence, hoping you’ll share only what you’re comfortable with. To his surprise, you continue.

“I’ve never been to the park before,” you admit, your voice a whisper. “I’ve been mostly isolated my entire life.”

His curiosity is piqued, but he respects your boundaries. He nods, his eyes reflecting empathy. “That must be really tough,” he says softly. “I can’t even imagine.”

There’s a moment of silence, comfortable and filled with unspoken understanding. For once, you don’t feel the need to fill the conversation—just his presence was enough.

“You know,” he begins, looking out at the park with a contemplative expression, “the first time I went to a new place by myself, I felt pretty overwhelmed too. It was nowhere near what you’re going through, but I get a bit of what it’s like to be surrounded by so much and feel so alone.”

You appreciate his effort to relate, to connect. It’s a small comfort, but it matters. “Thank you,” you say quietly. “For being here, and… for understanding.”

He smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes and warms you from the inside. “Anytime. And remember, everyone starts small. You’re doing great just by being here.”

Silence fills the air for a few seconds, allowing the tranquility of the park to envelop you both. Then, a thought surfaces, nudging you gently. “You know…” you begin, turning slightly towards him, “I still don’t know your name.”

His face lights up with a shy smile. “Oh, right. I guess I forgot to introduce myself properly. My name is San. Choi San.”

“San,” you repeat, letting the name roll off your lips. “Like the mountain.”

He laughs, a soft and endearing sound. “Yeah, exactly like the mountain. You’re not the first to make that connection,” he says with a grin, a hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks.

The wind rustles the leaves in the trees, carrying with it the distant sounds of laughter and conversation. You sit there, feeling a strange mix of relief and curiosity. San’s enthusiasm for life and his kindness provide a stark contrast to the isolation and fear that have been your constant companions.

“San,” you say again, more to yourself than to him, feeling the name claim a place for itself in your mind. There’s something grounding about it, something that makes you feel a little more connected to the world around you.

In an attempt to keep the discussion going and to distract yourself from what happened earlier, you decide to ask him what he asked you earlier.

"So, what brings you to the park today?" you inquire, your curiosity genuine.

San leans back slightly, looking around as if the park itself might answer. “I often come here to clear my head or unwind, especially when I'm going through something. It’s like a little sanctuary for me. Being out here helps me calm down and gather my thoughts.”

You wish you weren’t so afraid of being by yourself in huge crowds. If only you could do the same as San, finding solace in a place like this without feeling overwhelmed.

“What do you like about the park? Why does it bring you comfort?” you ask, and he smiles, a faraway look in his eyes.

“There’s something about the openness of it all. The way the trees rustle, the sound of children laughing, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves. It’s grounding. It reminds me that there’s more to life than the stress and the noise. It’s a place where I can just be.”

“You really seem to have a deep connection with a lot of things. First, astronomy, and now, nature,” you remark, a hint of admiration in your voice.

San nods, his eyes reflecting the sunlight filtering through the trees. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. It’s always been a place where I can reset and remind myself of the bigger picture. For me, nature has this way of putting everything into perspective.”

It was a fascinating sight to see, in a way. Spending all your hours within the confines of your home and being imprisoned by your own fate for pretty much all the years you’ve spent in this world has proved to be something that had imprinted a huge impact in the way you live, because even seeing passion being radiated by people is enough to elicit genuine surprise from you.

So this is what being in a world outside of yours is like.

So this is what seeing things in a perspective different from the one you’re holding is like.

So this is what not being you is like.

You look around, trying to see the park through his eyes. “I wish I could feel that way. Most of the time, I just feel... overwhelmed.”

San looks at you with understanding. “It’s okay to feel that way. Everyone has their own journey. What matters is that you’re trying. Coming here today was a big step, and it’s a good start.”

You nod, feeling a bit reassured. “Thank you. I guess I just have to take it one step at a time, huh?”

“Exactly,” San agrees, his voice encouraging. “And remember, it’s okay to take breaks and ask for help when you need it. You’re not alone.”

His words resonate with you, and for the first time in a while, you feel a glimmer of hope. It’s small, but it’s there, nevertheless. “Maybe I’ll try to come here more often, see if it helps.”

San smiles warmly. “I think that’s a great idea. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll find as much peace here as I do.”

You sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching the park come to life around you. The chaos that felt suffocating earlier now seems a bit more manageable, with San’s presence providing comfort.

As the conversation winds down, you feel a sense of gratitude. “Thank you, San. For everything. I didn’t think talking to a stranger could make such a difference.”

San chuckles softly. “Sometimes, a fresh perspective is all we need. And, well, we’re not really strangers anymore, are we?”

You offer him a small smile, feeling a connection forming. “I guess not.”

As the sun begins to set, casting a warm orange glow over the park, you look at San and say, “I should probably ask my father to come pick me up.”

San nods, stretching a bit after adjusting his glasses. “Yeah, I should head home too. My cat is probably wondering where I am.”

Your curiosity is piqued despite your earlier intention to leave. “Oh, you have a cat?” you ask.

“Yeah,” San replies with a smile. “Her name is Byeol, she’s a Siamese cat.” He pulls out his phone and shows you a picture of her. Byeol is a strikingly beautiful cat with piercing blue eyes and a sleek, cream-colored coat accented with darker points on her ears, face, paws, and tail.

“She’s adorable,” you say, admiring the photo. “She looks like a princess.”

San beams with pride. “Right? She’s a handful sometimes, but I wouldn’t trade her for anything. She’s always there when I need her, even if she’s just curling up next to me while I read.”

Just as you’re both caught up in talking about Byeol, you see your father's car pulling up. The sight of him brings you back to reality, reminding you of the time. You turn to San, feeling a bit rushed. “I should go. It was nice talking to you again, San.”

San waves with a smile, a hint of déjà vu in his eyes as he watches you walk away. “Same here. Take care.”

You walk towards your father’s car, your thoughts swirling with the day’s events. As you settle into the passenger seat, your father starts driving and asks, “So, how was your day at the park?”

You decide not to mention your anxiety attack, not wanting to worry him. “Today gave me a piece of a new perspective in life,” you say instead.

Your father glances at you, curiosity etched on his face. “What do you mean by that?”

You glance out the window, gathering your thoughts. “Do you remember the boy from the observatory?”

He nods. “Yes, is he the boy you were sitting with on the bench?”

“Yeah,” You confirm. “We crossed paths again today by accident.”

“Did you spend time together?” your father asks, his interest clearly piqued.

“Well, kind of,” you reply, thinking back to your conversations with San. “We just sat on a bench and talked about things. Nothing special, really. But it felt different. I felt different.”

Your father seems intrigued. “Is that where you got this ‘new perspective’ from?”

“Maybe,” you admit, a small smile forming on your lips. “He has this way of seeing the world that makes it seem... less daunting. More manageable. He talked about finding beauty and meaning even in difficult circumstances, and it just made sense to me.”

Your father looks at you, pride and relief evident in his eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. Sometimes, all it takes is a different viewpoint to make things seem better. And it sounds like this boy has a good influence on you.”

You nod, looking out the window as the scenery passes by. The streets, houses, and trees blend into a comforting blur. You can’t help but think about how much San’s words and presence have impacted you in such a short time. His optimism and the way he embraced life, even with its uncertainties, had struck a chord within you.

At the same time, your curiosity about him couldn’t help but wander around further.

—

Last night, sleep came with a weighty heart, knowing all too well what awaited today. The bright red marker on the calendar hung by your door, circling the dreaded date, was an ever-present reminder of your reality.

Your monthly checkup.

It was never just a routine visit for you. Each trip to the hospital was a stark reminder of the inevitable. The sterile smell of antiseptic, the chill of the air-conditioned rooms, the cold, clinical atmosphere—everything about the hospital filled you with dread. The monthly checkups were less about monitoring your health and more about confronting the slow, inescapable decline. You loathed the look of concern on your parents’ faces, the hushed conversations with your doctor, the heavy sighs and the sympathetic nods. You knew your health was deteriorating, and each visit confirmed what you already feared. And that was what you hated most.

Now, as you sit in the car with your father driving, your mother’s absence due to work commitments is painfully felt. The air is thick with unspoken fears and desperate hopes for some glimmer of good news, though deep down, you all know it’s a futile wish. The treatments, the surgeries—they were all temporary measures, patches over a wound that couldn’t truly heal.

Today, however, feels different.

For the first time, the thought of bad news brings a strange, new fear. Typically, you had accepted your fate with a resigned indifference. What has changed now? Why do you suddenly care so much about the results?

The answer isn’t clear, but you suspect it has something to do with the recent days at the park, the unexpected encounter with San, and his earnest words about finding beauty and meaning in the limited time one has. His encouragement to live, even if it’s just a little bit, seems to have ignited a spark within you—a spark you can’t ignore.

As you watch the scenery blur past, your mind drifts back to those moments at the park. The seed of hope he planted now feels fragile but growing. The hospital looms ahead, an unwelcoming fortress, and you feel your heart tighten as you pull into the parking lot. Your father’s grip on the steering wheel is firm, his knuckles white. He looks at you, offering a strained smile.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice betraying the calm demeanor he tries to project. You nod, though your stomach churns with anxiety. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Together, you walk into the hospital, the familiar antiseptic smell hitting you immediately. The nurse at the reception desk recognizes you and gives a sympathetic nod before leading you to the examination room. You sit on the crinkling paper of the exam table, your father standing beside you, his hand a steadying presence on your shoulder. The doctor enters, clipboard in hand, and offers a professional but warm smile.

“How are we feeling today?” she asks, her tone gentle. “Alright,” you reply, though it feels like a lie that even you can’t bring yourself to believe.

The checkup begins, each procedure a familiar invasion. Your mind is a whirlwind, each step a reminder of your reality. When it’s over, the doctor looks at you with a mix of pity and professionalism before asking your father to step outside. You know what this means. It’s never a good sign when they need to talk privately.

Left alone, the silence is heavy and suffocating. You glance around the room, trying to focus on anything but the conversation happening outside. The sterile instruments, the educational posters on the walls—they all seem like cruel jokes.

Minutes stretch on like hours until your father finally returns. His face is pale, eyes red-rimmed, but he forces a smile. “Let’s head home,” he said softly.

You nodded, feeling your heart sink. Another bad report, another reminder of the inevitable. As you and your father headed toward the exit, a familiar figure caught your eye by the reception desk. He turned his head slightly, and your suspicions were confirmed.

San.

Why was he here? Visiting an ill family member? A friend, perhaps? Or... was he the patient himself?

Before you could delve deeper into your thoughts, your father’s voice pulled you back to reality. “Let’s head home," he repeated gently, and despite your curiosity, you turned your attention away from San and followed your father outside.

On the ride home, the atmosphere in the car was heavy with unspoken dread. You sat in the passenger seat, your eyes fixed on the passing scenery, but your mind was elsewhere, trapped in a whirlpool of anxiety and fear. The hum of the engine and the rhythmic thud of the tires on the asphalt were the only sounds, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside you.

Your father’s silence was louder than any words. His grip on the steering wheel was tight as if desperately trying to hold himself together, and you could see the pain etched in his features. You mustered the courage to ask, your voice coming off as a whisper, “Dad, what did she say?”

He hesitated, and for a moment, you saw the facade he tried so hard to maintain begin to crumble. His eyes welled up with tears, his breath hitching as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. “You… you have a month left to live,” he said slowly, his voice breaking, each word hitting you like a sledgehammer.

Time stopped.

The world held its breath.

And so did you.

The world outside the car ceased to exist, reduced to a blur of colors and shapes. The weight of his words pressed down on you, suffocating and inescapable. A month. Just one month left. Four weeks. Thirty days. The enormity of it was paralyzing.

Your mind went blank, your father’s quiet sobs becoming a distant, muffled sound. You stared at your lap, your hands clenched into fists, knuckles turning white. Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps, as if the very air around you had turned to lead.

No, no, no. This can’t be. This can’t be.

“I’m so, so sorry, darling…” your father whispered, his voice choked with emotion. The raw pain in his words shattered the fragile dam holding back your tears, and you felt your heart splinter into a thousand pieces.

When you pulled into the driveway, the house loomed ahead, a familiar sight now tainted with a sense of finality. Your mother stood by the door, her face a mask of worry and sorrow. She had been crying; her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks streaked with dried tears. It seems as if your father had already informed her about it right after his conversation with your doctor. As you stepped out of the car, the last vestiges of your composure crumbled.

You ran to her, needing the comfort of her embrace. She opened her arms wide, gathering you into a tight hug. You buried your face in her shoulder, the sobs wracking your body as she held you close, her chin resting on your forehead. One hand gently rubbed your back in soothing circles, while the other cradled your head, fingers tangled in your hair.

“It’s going to be alright,” she murmured, her voice trembling. But you both knew it was a lie. There was no alright, no miracle waiting around the corner. Just the cruel march of time, slipping away faster than you could grasp.

Inside the house, the usual warmth felt hollow, a stark reminder of the fleeting moments you had left. The living room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage. Your father’s footsteps echoed in the hallway as he followed you in, his presence a silent testament to the shared grief weighing down on your family.

You slumped onto the couch, the weight of the news pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. Your mother sat beside you, her arm around your shoulders, offering silent support. Your father joined you, sitting on the other side, his hand resting gently on yours.

“We’ll get through this,” he said softly, though his voice betrayed the uncertainty in his heart. You nodded, but the words felt empty, a hollow echo in the face of an unforgiving reality.

The room fell into a heavy silence, each of you lost in your thoughts. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, an unwelcome reminder of the time slipping away. You wished you could stop it, freeze this moment and hold on to the fragile threads of hope that still lingered.

But deep down, you knew the truth. Your time was running out, and there was nothing you could do to change it.

When night falls, you find yourself in a familiar situation, sitting on your bed while gazing at the stars outside. Somehow, they still provide a sense of comfort, even if it’s slowly starting to dim. An hour ago, when you went to your room to “sleep,” you heard the muffled cries of your parents the moment you shut the door behind you. Instead of heading to your bed, you stayed there by the door, ear pressed against it, listening to their helpless sobs.

The sound was unbearable. It wasn’t just the sadness in their voices; it was the raw, visceral pain, the sense of impending loss. It cut through you like a knife. You couldn’t handle hearing them cry. You couldn’t handle making their suffering even worse.

You had to rid yourself of them before it got worse on their behalf.

So here you are now. Minutes ago, you were just stargazing, but now, half your figure is outside your window. Carefully, you sneak out of your room, making sure to avoid any noise as you slip past the gates. You look back at your home once more, and your heart shatters. You hold back your sobs, then you make a run for it, not daring to look back.

Your bare feet pound against the ground, the sharp edges of the tiny stones biting into your skin. Each step hurts, but you keep running. The pain is nothing compared to the torment in your heart. Nothing else is on your mind but to run, run, run.

The night was cold, the chill air stinging your face as you eventually found yourself standing on the edge of the cliff. Tears streamed down your cheeks, mingling with the sweat from your frantic run. The city lights below twinkled like distant stars, mocking the darkness that had enveloped your heart. Each breath was a struggle, each sob a dagger in your chest

You thought of your parents, the look of devastation in their eyes when the doctor had delivered the news. You thought of the pain you had caused them, the weight of their sorrow pressing down on you like a physical force. How could you continue to be the source of their suffering?

Your mind raced with thoughts of escape, of ending the agony for everyone involved. You imagined the relief on their faces when they no longer had to watch you fade away. It seemed like the only way to free them from this nightmare.

As you stood there, teetering on the edge, you closed your eyes, ready to take the final step. But before you could, a strong hand grabbed your wrist, yanking you back from the brink. You gasped, eyes flying open, and found yourself pulled into the firm embrace of a familiar figure.

San’s arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly. His chest heaved with the exertion of his run to catch you, his breath hot against your ear. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice a mix of fear and desperation.

You couldn’t find the words to respond, your body trembling uncontrollably. He didn’t let go, his grip tightening as if afraid you might slip away. The reality of what you had almost done hit you like a tidal wave, and the sobs you had been holding back broke free, wracking your body.

San slowly took steps back, ensuring you were safely away from the edge of the cliff. You clung to him, sobbing into his chest. “There’s no point, San,” you cried, your voice broken. “There’s no point in living. I can’t. I can’t do this anymore—please, I just... I need to end it all...”

San’s heart ached at your words. He tightened his hold on you, trying to infuse his strength into your frail, trembling body. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here,” he whispered, his voice soothing, attempting to anchor you in the present. “Let’s sit down, okay?”

He gently guided you to sit down, and you didn’t protest, your soul and body too numb to resist. He sat beside you, keeping a firm arm around your shoulders, rubbing your back in slow, calming circles. The silence between you was thick with emotion, but he was patient, waiting for you to find your voice.

After a few minutes, you took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, San,” you whisper, and he leans in closer because he can’t hear you. “I don’t think I can still find it in me to believe in the existence of hope anymore.”

He looked at you with concern. “What’s wrong? What do you mean by that?”

You turned to him, your eyes filled with unshed tears. “I have a month left.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “A month left? What do you mean?”

With a deep breath, you revealed the truth. “I’m diagnosed with a terminal disease, San. I’m cursed.”

San’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No, that can’t be...” His voice trailed off, the weight of your words settling in.

“I’ve known for my entire life,” you continued, your voice trembling. “But today, the doctor told my parents that I only have a month left to live. I don’t know how to keep going, knowing that my time is so limited.”

“I’ve always felt different, San. Since birth, I’ve been living with this disease, and it feels like I’m on borrowed time. Every single day, I wake up knowing that my life is on a countdown, and it’s exhausting. I can’t let myself be happy because I’m terrified that if I do, it’ll be snatched away from me. It’s like there’s this invisible barrier between me and the rest of the world. I see people finding joy in the simplest things, and I can’t. I just can’t.”

San’s eyes are filled with empathy and sorrow as he listens, his hand never leaving your shoulder. You take a deep breath and continue, the words coming faster now, as if a dam inside you has finally broken.

“I feel like such a burden to my parents. They don’t say it, but I know. Every hospital visit, every new medication, every surgery—it’s like I’m a constant reminder of the life they could have had without me. I’ve seen the fear and worry in their eyes every time we talk to the doctors. It’s like a knife twisting in my heart every single time. I hate seeing them suffer because of me. I hate that my existence is a source of pain for them.”

Your voice trembles with the weight of your emotions, but you push on, needing to get it all out.

“I can’t do normal things like everyone else. I’ve missed out on so much because of this illness. School, friends, just going out and having fun—none of that has ever been normal for me. I’ve been isolated for most of my life, and it’s so lonely. I watch from the sidelines as life goes on without me, and it hurts… it hurts so much.”

Tears begin to flow freely down your cheeks, and you don’t bother wiping them away. San’s grip on your shoulder tightens, offering silent support.

“I feel guilty for wanting to be happy. Every time I see my parents smile, I feel like I’m taking that away from them because of my condition. I feel like I’m stealing their chance at a normal, happy life. I wish I could just disappear and take all their pain with me. I wish I could give them a break from all this suffering. So, that’s why I…”

You pause to catch your breath, the weight of your words pressing down on you. San remains silent, his eyes never leaving yours, his presence grounding you. The sobs come harder now, your body shaking with the force of your emotions. San pulls you closer, wrapping you in a warm, comforting embrace. His presence feels like a lifeline.

“I’ve tried so hard to be strong, to put on a brave face for them. But it's getting harder and harder. I’m so tired, San. I’m so, so tired. And the worst part is, I feel like I don’t even have the right to be tired. There are so many people who have it worse than me, and I feel guilty for feeling this way. But I can’t help it. I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

Your voice cracks, and you finally let go, crying freely into San’s arms. He holds you tighter, his hand gently rubbing your back in soothing circles.

“I just want to be normal. I want to live a life without fear, without pain. I want to be able to laugh without worrying about what comes next. But I can’t. And it’s killing me inside.”

San holds you as your sobs shake his chest, waiting until your breaths slow and the storm of your emotions begins to calm. He doesn’t rush to speak; he knows there are no quick fixes for what you're going through. When he does finally speak, his voice is soft and raw with emotion.

“I don’t have any magic words to make this better,” he begins. “I can’t pretend to understand the depth of what you’re going through. No one can, except you. What you’re feeling is valid, and it’s okay to be angry, sad, and scared. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle in. “Oftentimes, life is incredibly unfair. It’s okay to acknowledge that. You’ve been dealt a really tough hand, and it’s not right or fair. But... you’re still here, aren’t you? And that means something. I’m proud of you for it.”

San’s grip on you tightens slightly, a gesture of reassurance. “You’ve been carrying this burden for so long, feeling like you have to be strong for everyone else. But you don’t have to do it alone. It’s okay to let people in, to let them help you carry the weight. Your parents, they love you, alright? They don’t see you as a burden. They see you as their precious child, someone they’d do anything for. They’re suffering because they can’t take away your pain, not because you’re causing it.”

You unconsciously nuzzle into his embrace a little more, the low vibrations from his chest as he spoke sending warmth throughout your troubled soul. “I know it’s hard to believe in hope right now. And maybe that’s not what you need at this moment. Maybe what you need is to just let yourself go. To let yourself feel everything you’re feeling without judgment. To let yourself grieve for the life you’ve missed and the dreams you feel slipping away. That’s okay. It’s okay to mourn those losses.”

San’s eyes meet yours, filled with sincerity and care. “You’ve been fighting so hard, and it’s okay to admit that you’re tired. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to be vulnerable. You’re human, and humans aren’t meant to carry these kinds of burdens alone.”

He lets the silence stretch, allowing his words to sink in. “If there’s one thing I want you to remember, it’s that your life has a meaning. Not because of what you can or can’t do, but because of who you are. The way you’ve touched the lives of those around you, the strength you’ve shown just by getting through each day—those things matter. You matter.”

You look at him through tear-blurred eyes, his words striking chords deep within your heart. “But what if I can’t keep going?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

San’s expression softens even further, and in his eyes, you see a reflection of the determination and care you’ve been too exhausted to summon for yourself. “Then we take it one day at a time. One moment at a time. And when it gets too hard, we lean on each other. I’ll be here, as much as you need me to be. We’ll face this together, okay? You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

We.

You pull back slightly, meeting San’s eyes with a questioning look. “Why are you so adamant about giving me these sincere, deep words? Why do you care so much about making me feel validated?”

A hint of sadness flickers in his eyes. “Because I know how it feels to watch something in your life slowly fade away, unable to do anything about it. It’s not the same as what you’re going through, but I get the gist of it.”

You tilt your head, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean by that?”

San lets out a soft sigh, gathering his thoughts. “Have I ever told you what else I was passionate about before I fully shifted my focus to astronomy?” he asks. You shake your head silently, eager to hear more.

“Well, besides my fascination with the stars, I used to love playing the piano. Not a single day went by without me playing it. During the day, I’d spend hours at the piano, and at night, I’d lose myself in the sky. Music was everything to me. I loved the way each note could convey a world of emotions, how a simple melody could touch hearts and tell stories.”

San’s eyes light up with the memory, a small smile forming on his lips. “There was something magical about the way my fingers danced across the keys, creating harmonies that felt like they were coming straight from my soul. The piano was my escape, my sanctuary. When I played, the world around me would fade away, and it was just me and the music. I felt connected to something greater, something pure and beautiful.”

You nod, imagining a younger San with a passion for music as vibrant as his love for the stars. “So… why did you drop that passion?” you ask softly.

San's gaze shifts to the distance, his voice taking on a heavy tone. “It’s not easy to hold onto a passion for something you know you’re going to lose the ability to fully experience.”

Confusion clouds your expression, urging him to continue.

He sighs, a heavy breath escaping his lips. “When I was a teenager, I was diagnosed with a condition that would eventually lead to complete deafness. It’s progressive, meaning my hearing would deteriorate gradually over time until it was completely gone. Knowing that, knowing I’d one day lose the ability to hear the music I loved, it broke me. Playing the piano started to feel like a cruel reminder of what I was losing.”

So that’s why you saw him at the hospital by the reception weeks ago.

San’s words hang in the air, each one sinking deep into your heart. The weight of his experience, his loss, mirrors the feelings you’ve been grappling with—you weren’t far different from each other, it turns out.

“I remember the day I found out,” San continues, his voice tainted with a deep sadness. “The doctor sat me down and explained that my hearing would gradually decline until I couldn’t hear anything at all. I was devastated. It felt like my entire world was crumbling around me. The thought of never being able to hear the music that had been such a vital part of my life was unbearable. I cried for days, maybe weeks. I didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to accept that something I loved so much could be taken away from me.”

He pauses, collecting himself. “So then, I stopped playing the piano. Every time I sat down to play, all I could think about was the silence that awaited me. It was too painful to face. I felt like a part of me was dying, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

You look at him, seeing a reflection of your own struggle in his story. “How did you keep going, knowing that?” you ask in a soft tone similar to the one he uses all the time whenever he’s talking to you. “How did you overcome that and stay so… positive?”

San’s smile is bittersweet, filled with a resilience that you find both inspiring and heartbreaking. “By finding new ways to connect with the world. At first, it was incredibly hard. I felt lost and hopeless. But I realized that I couldn’t let my condition define me. I had to find other things that brought me joy and fulfillment. That’s when I turned to the stars. The universe is vast and endless, filled with mysteries and wonders that don’t rely on one sense alone. It gave me hope and a way to cope with my reality.”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours. “I also learned to lean on the people around me. I talked to the people I held close to my heart about my fears and struggles, and their support made a huge difference. I allowed myself to grieve what I was losing, but I also focused on appreciating what I still had. And as time went on, I found a new sense of purpose in helping others who were going through their own battles. Sometimes, just knowing you’re not alone can make all the difference.”

San’s gaze softens, and he takes your hand gently in his. “And to answer your question earlier, the reason why I genuinely want to help you is because I know what it’s like to feel lost and alone. And because I believe that even in the darkest times, there’s still a flicker of light. You deserve to find that light, to feel that hope. And if my words can help you see that, then it’s worth it.”

A flicker of light.

“Do you think you’ll ever reconsider picking up the piano again?” you ask, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

San shrugs lightly, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe someday, but in the meantime, I don’t really want to do that. For now, I’m content with my memories. Besides, I’ve found new passions to focus on.” His tone is casual, but there’s a hint of lingering sadness. In an attempt to lighten the mood, he asks, “Why? Do you have a favorite piece you’d like to hear me play?”

A soft smile appears on your lips as you respond, “My favorite piece is Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2.”

San’s eyes light up with recognition and delight. “Really? That’s also my favorite piece to play back when I was a child,” he says, his smile widening.

Seeing San’s happiness brings you a sense of joy you haven’t felt for pretty much almost your entire life. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you realize that his happiness has a profound impact on your own mood.

Wanting to delve deeper into that positivity, you decide to ask him more about his passion for playing the piano. “Can you tell me more about your time playing the piano?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

He raises an eyebrow, surprised but pleased by your interest. “Are you sure about that?” he asks, a gentle smile on his lips.

You nod eagerly. “Yes, I’m sure. Tell me anything about it. Your favorite memories, your love for music, all about it.”

San’s expression softens, and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “Alright,” he begins, his voice carrying a nostalgic tone. “Well, I started playing the piano when I was around five years old. My parents noticed I had a natural inclination towards music, always humming tunes or tapping rhythms with my fingers. So, they got me a small keyboard to play around with, and tell you what—I fell in love with it.”

He pauses, a wistful smile on his face as he recalls the memory. “I remember the first time I played a complete piece. It was ‘Für Elise’ by Beethoven. My hands were so small, barely able to reach all the keys, but the feeling of bringing music to life was incredible.”

You listen intently, drawn into his story. “What other pieces did you love to play?”

San’s eyes light up. “Oh, there were so many. ‘Moonlight Sonata,’ ‘Clair de Lune,’ and of course, ‘Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2.’ Each piece had its own story, its own emotions. Playing them was like telling a tale without words.”

He hums to himself, his expression turning more reflective. “But it wasn’t just about playing the notes correctly. It was about feeling the music, letting it flow through me. There were times I’d lose myself completely, hours passing by without me even noticing.”

His enthusiasm is palpable, and you find yourself smiling. “What’s your favorite memory associated with the piano?” you ask.

San’s smile widens. “There was this one time, during a school recital. I was about ten years old, and I played ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ by Gershwin. It was a challenging piece, but I’d practiced for weeks. When I finished, the applause was deafening. My parents were in the front row, beaming with pride. That moment felt like magic, like I was on top of the world.”

His eyes sparkle with the memory, and you can’t help but feel his joy. “That sounds amazing,” you say softly.

“It was,” he agrees, his tone warm. “Music was my escape, my solace. It was where I could express myself fully, without fear or judgment. Even now, though I can’t play as I used to, those memories bring me comfort.”

You nod, finding yourself feeling gravely touched by his experiences. “Thank you for sharing that with me, San. It means a lot.”

San’s smile is gentle, as always. “And thank you for listening. Revisiting those memories every once in a while helps me remember the beauty in life despite its challenges.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you remember something you probably should have asked earlier. “Hey… what were you doing here tonight, anyway?”

He chuckles, looking out at the night sky. “This place is my little escape. It’s another spot I go to when I need to clear my head. The park is great during the day, but this cliff... it has a clear view of the night sky, and you know how much I love astronomy. It’s windy, peaceful, and quiet here. No one else knows about this place—well, except for you now.”

He pauses, then adds with a playful grin, “I guess this is now a place only the two of us know.”

San checks his phone and sees the time: 3 AM. He turns to you, concern evident in his eyes. “It’s getting really late,” he says gently, his voice a soft whisper in the quiet night. “We should probably head home. The streets aren’t really the kindest at this hour. It’s not safe to stay out much longer.”

As his words sink in, reality sets in as well. You suddenly realize you ran here without considering how you would get back home. Embarrassment washes over you, and you look down at your bare feet, feeling foolish. “I... I don’t actually know the way back home. I just ran here without thinking,” you admit, your voice small and filled with regret.

San’s reassuring smile does little to ease your embarrassment, but it does bring some comfort. “I figured as much,” he says, glancing at your bare feet and nightclothes. “Do you know your parents’ phone number?”

“Yeah, why?” you ask, puzzled and a bit hesitant.“I’ll call them for you,” San replies. “You can explain everything to them. It’s safer this way.”

Panic rises within you, your mind racing with the possible reactions your parents might have. “No, no—I can't. They don’t know I ran away. They might be awake, looking for me. I just…” you trail off, your voice carrying a hint of guilt.

Sensing your fear, San places a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch calming. “It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I know the decision you made wasn’t the best, but it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Your safety is what’s important right now. If your parents are upset, it’ll pass. Their primary concern will be getting you home safely. Trust me.”

His calm demeanor and understanding words slowly convince you. Reluctantly, you take his phone and dial your mother’s number, your hands shaking slightly. Almost immediately, she picks up. “Mom…?”

You can hear the worry in her voice as she asks, “Oh my, oh my—darling! Where are you? Are you okay? Are you safe? Where did you run off to?”

“Mom, please calm down. I’m safe,” you say, trying to soothe her. “I’m about to head home now.”

“Okay, okay… where are you?” she repeats, her voice thick with concern and a touch of desperation. “I’m with San,” you say, hoping the name brings some comfort and reassurance.

“San?” your mother echoes, confused and worried.Your father, who is also listening in, seems to recognize the name. “San, the boy from the observatory and the park?” he asks, his tone shifting from worry to recognition.

San leans in, speaking into the phone with a calm and respectful voice. “Hello, Ma’am, Sir. Yes, it's me. I’m with your daughter, and she’s safe, please don’t worry. I’ll take her home now.”

Your parents express their gratitude, their relief palpable through the phone. “Thank you so much, dear. Please be safe,” your mother says before hanging up, her voice filled with gratitude and relief.

You look at San, a mix of gratitude and confusion on your face. “San, you don’t have to take me home, really. You’ve done more than enough by just being here. I can—”

He cuts you off with a small smile on his lips. “I insist. There’s no way I’ll let you walk home with bare, bruised feet. And you did mention earlier that you don’t even know where this place is, let alone how you got here. So let me, okay? Don’t stress yourself out.”

You find yourself in awe with how he was able to shut your mild stubbornness down in a way so gentle as if he was trying to explain to a kid why inserting a fork in an outlet isn’t a good thing to do. So, without a word, you just nod.

As you both stand up, San notices you shiver slightly. Without a second thought, he slips off his dark brown leather jacket and gently drapes it over your shoulders, revealing the plain black shirt he wore underneath.

“But what about you?” You ask, glancing at his now bare arms. “Won’t you get cold?” San shakes his head, offering a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me. You need it more than I do right now.”

You nod, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself. Just as you’re about to take a step, a sharp pain shoots through your foot, causing you to hiss in discomfort.

San’s eyes immediately drop to your bare, bruised feet. “Let me help,” he says softly. Turning his back to you, he crouches down slightly. “Hop on,” he urges.

You hesitate, feeling a bit shy about the whole situation. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden.” San looks over his shoulder, his eyes filled with gentle insistence. “I’m sure. It’s the best way to keep your feet from getting worse.”

Reluctantly, you wrap your arms around his neck, and he lifts you effortlessly. As he starts walking down the cliff, he moves with deliberate care, making sure each step is steady and safe.

“Where do you live?” he asks once you’ve reached the flat ground of the unfamiliar streets. He nods in recognition when you give him your address, thankful that he knows where the street is. The walk is silent but not uncomfortable. The night air is cool and the city is quiet, offering a moment of calm after the chaos.

As he continues walking, his pace steady and sure, you start to feel your eyelids grow heavy. Exhaustion from the night’s events begins to take over, and before you know it, you’ve fallen asleep, your head resting against his shoulder. San notices your soft snores and adjusts his steps to be even more careful, as he wants to make sure you get the rest you clearly need.

When San reaches your street, he notices a worried couple near your house. Drawing closer, he recognizes your parents, who, in turn, recognize him. Their faces flood with relief as they rush toward him, tears streaming down their cheeks.

“Oh, thank you, thank you so, so much,” your mother sobs, her voice thick with emotion. “You kept her safe. We can’t thank you enough.”

San offers a gentle smile and carefully shifts to let your father lift you from his back. Your father cradles you tenderly, carrying you inside with palpable relief. Your mother and San remain outside, just by the door.

“Where did you find her?” your mother asks, her voice still trembling. San takes a moment before replying, “I found her stargazing at a cliff I visit every night to unwind.”

Your mother nods, understanding. “I woke up with a terrible feeling. When I went to check on her, she was gone, and the window was open. I was so scared she might do something... drastic. She’s been in so much pain, especially after the news today. Knowing she only has a month left... it’s unbearable. I just want to give her a life without worries, but I feel so helpless.”

She holds back a sob, her eyes welling with tears. “I love her so much. She’s my whole world. Seeing her suffer like this, knowing there’s nothing I can do to take her pain away... it breaks me. Every day, I wish I could trade places with her, take away her illness, her pain. But I can’t, and it’s the most helpless feeling in the world. I try to stay strong for her, to show her how much I care, but sometimes I wonder if it’s enough. If she truly knows how much she means to us, how much we would do anything to see her happy, healthy. I wake up every night fearing for her, praying for a miracle, wishing she could live the life she deserves. It’s just... so hard."

San listens intently, his heart aching with empathy as he absorbs your mother’s words. He sees the deep lines of worry etched into her face, the way her hands tremble slightly with emotion—and it brought him a sense of pain knowing he’s now aware of the intensity of the pain both sides of your family felt.

“Your daughter is incredibly strong,” he begins softly. “I know it must be hard to see it sometimes, especially with everything she’s been through. But the fact that she continues to wake up each day, to face her illness and all the pain it brings, says so much about her spirit. Despite all the reasons she has to give up, she’s still here. She’s fighting a battle most of us can't even begin to understand.”

He pauses, glancing towards your bedroom window that your father had now shut close. “There’s a resilience in her that’s rare. Even tonight, when she felt lost and overwhelmed, she found her way to a place that brought her comfort—the stars. That takes a kind of inner strength and determination that not many people have.”

San looks back at your mother, his gaze empathetic and earnest. “And it’s clear where she gets that strength from. She’s had you and her father by her side, showing her what it means to love unconditionally, to fight for those you care about. That kind of support and love is powerful. It gives her the foundation she needs to keep going, even when things seem impossible.”

“Your daughter is a testament to the human spirit’s capacity for endurance. She’s facing something that would break many, yet she’s still standing. And that’s not something to take lightly. It’s something to be incredibly proud of.”

San’s words hang in the air, filled with sincerity and respect. Your mother looks at him, tears still glistening in her eyes, but now there’s a spark of hope and recognition. She nods slowly, understanding the depth of what he’s saying.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. “Thank you for seeing her strength, for being there when she needed someone. It means more than you could ever know.”

San gives a small, reassuring smile. “It’s the least I could do. She’s an extraordinary person, and she deserves to know just how remarkable she is.”

—

The concept of unwinding has never been one to be easy to grasp for you.

You’ve been told it doesn’t hurt to try countless times, but the truth is that it does. It does hurt, and it hurts like a poisonous rose thorn piercing right through your heart. You’ve tried. You’ve tried to forget about the impending doom surrounding your life whenever you feel like it’s what has to be done in order to uplift your spirits, whether temporarily or not. You’ve tried to find it in you to make an effort to light up a dusty torch of hope in the middle of the void of despair. You’ve tried to focus on what you have now rather than dwelling over what you’ll have left in the future.

Why? Because it works for everyone else. The saying that goes “you only live once” is enough to push them to test the waters of their limits and fly beyond their borderlines. The thought of an opportunity no longer passing by once they ignore it when it first shows up is enough to knock it into their heads that they need to make the most of what they’re being given now, knowing they might never be able to have it again. But for you? Nothing has ever worked out well.

Until you met Choi San, at least.

Ever since he first spoke to you about facts regarding this year’s meteor shower sounding like a stuck-up science professor who’s a little in too deep with his profession for everyone’s liking, changes in the way your world spins have occured. Changes that were so subtle you’ve failed to notice it until they were all piled on top of each other—much like the slow process of a build-up of a painting that starts off with weird brush strokes you’d think wouldn’t look good if put together at first.

At first, his words were like bullets trying to make their way through a bulletproof vest. If anything, at some point, you even wondered if he was out—whether of his mind or of touch with reality—because surely a person cannot be that motivated to seek positivity in a world so cruel.

But as seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, days into weeks, the process of it all passes by like a blur and the next thing you knew was you were curious of the bliss of hope enough to wish you could dip at least a finger into his universe, just to see how your life could’ve been, had you not been so adamant to avoid optimism like it’s the plague.

Then one thing led to another, and now you’re unsure whether you want his world or want to be in his world.

Which is precisely why you’re now sitting on an all too familiar bench at the park in hopes of catching a glimpse of the person that pulled you into coming here.

You no longer trust yourself enough to wander off all alone again because you know what happened the last time you tried to commit such a thing. So then, you sit here, silently waiting, even with no guarantee that he’ll magically show up. He could be anywhere—another town, another place, maybe even sleeping. But at this point, it no longer matters much to you. You’ve come to see him as a guiding light, and you want to bask in his radiance as much as possible.

Lost in your thoughts, you’re jolted back to reality by a voice calling your name. Looking up, you see San approaching. “San,” you say, your tone coming off perhaps a little too cheerful than what you wanted to let on. As you shift to make room for him beside you, he sits down, a reassuring presence in the quiet of the morning. “What brings you here?” he asks, curiosity evident in his eyes.

You offer a small smile, one that you’re certain was enough to mask up your blatant lie of a reason. “You mentioned this was a place you come to clear your mind. I thought I’d give it a try, too.”

San’s expression softens, his heart melting at your words. “Is it working so far?” You glance around, feeling a sense of peace you hadn’t quite expected. “Yeah, it is,” you admit, meeting his gaze.

San grins. “You know, I also mentioned that I sometimes try new things to unwind.” You tilt your head, intrigued. “Yeah…?” you trailed off, sensing that there was a catch to his words.

He shrugs, looking around the park. “I mean, you could try that out as well, don’t you think?” he says. His smile became even wider as he gave the suggestion, the shape of his eyes turning into thin crescents, and it reminds you of a cat yawning.

“Ice skating, pottery painting, going to the arcade,” he begins, listing activities with genuine enthusiasm. “Maybe even visiting museums and just exploring different parts of the city.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you consider the possibilities. “That sounds... fun,” you say, a bit surprised at your own interest.

“It really is,” San assures you. “And it might help you find something you enjoy, something that gives you a break from everything.”

And that’s exactly how you spent the following days.

The morning after your not-so-coincidental meeting at the park, San showed up at your parents’ house to get their permission to take you ice skating. You were still asleep when he arrived, so you were completely unaware of his plan. When you finally woke up and went downstairs, you found San chatting happily with your parents in the living room. Letting out a startled shriek, you bolted back to your room, convinced you were hallucinating.

Three gentle knocks came from the other side of your door. “Hey, it’s just me,” San’s familiar voice called softly. Hesitantly, you cracked the door open, peeking out at him. “Are you real…?” you asked, reaching out to touch his face for a brief moment.

San’s cheeks turned a bright red as he laughed, covering his face. “I’m as real as I can be,” he assured you, a bit amused. You blinked at him, still processing his presence. “What are you even doing here?” you managed to ask.

“I planned to take you to go ice skating today,” he explained with a smile. And before you could speak up about your doubts of whether you’d be allowed to go outside or not, he beat you to it. “I already got your parents’ permission, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Before you could respond, he added, “I’ll wait for you downstairs. Take your time to get ready.” He stepped back, allowing you to close the door and gather yourself.

When you finally went down the stairs, you felt a little more put-together than usual. Your parents were quick to compliment your appearance, and San, though a bit late, managed to stammer out, “You look beautiful.”You didn't catch it, but your parents did, exchanging knowing glances. “What?” you asked, and San repeated himself, louder this time but somehow more bashful. “You look really beautiful.”

At the ice skating rink, you nervously stared at the skates in your hands. “You know what, San, maybe this isn’t a good idea…” you murmured, anxiety creeping in.San already had his feet settled down on the ice, extending his hand toward you. “I’ve got you, okay? I promise I won’t let go,” he reassured you with a gentle smile.

At first, you nearly fell over multiple times, your grip on San’s hands growing tighter and tighter until it reached his forearms, then his shoulders. At some point, you both failed to notice, but your arms ended up wrapped around his waist, and your face was buried in his chest out of sheer fear.

San, feeling your trepidation, gently motivated you to let go gradually and trust him. “Don’t be scared, I’m here. I’ll catch you if you fall, alright?”

And although you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do trust San. You took a deep breath and slowly let go of his waist, immediately clutching his forearms for support. He skated backward, guiding you as you learned to move your feet. Step by step, you started to get the hang of it. San’s face then lit up with a proud smile.

“You’re doing great!” he cheered. “Do you think you’re ready to try it on your own?”

Slowly, you nodded. San released you from his hold but kept his hands out, ready to catch you if you needed it. To his surprise and your own, you started skating smoothly. The initial heartwarming moment quickly turned playful as you began to chase him around the rink, laughing and shouting, “If I catch you, you’re a loser!”

San chuckled, skating just fast enough to keep a fair distance. “We’ll see about that!”

For the next day you spent together, you two decided to try pottery painting. As you settled at the table with your blank ceramic pieces in front of you, you asked San if he had a picture of Byeol on his phone. Despite his confusion, he obliged, scrolling through his gallery before handing you his phone with a picture of Byeol displayed. You both decided to put up a makeshift cardboard barrier between you to keep your paintings a surprise until you were both finished. With brushes in hand, you began to paint, each absorbed in your creative process.

When it was time for the big reveal, San removed the cardboard piece, proudly displaying his bowl. He had painted a breathtaking night sky filled with stars and the Orion constellation, knowing it was your favorite. On the bottom half, there was a cliff with two shadowy figures sitting side by side. “That’s us!” he said, flashing his signature cat-like smile that you’ve grown to admire. His depiction of your special spot touched your heart deeply, and you felt a lump in your throat as you fought back tears.

Then it was your turn. Nervously, you showed him your bowl, which featured a detailed painting of Byeol. San’s eyes widened with surprise and delight. He quickly took the bowl from you, examining the well-crafted details. “How did you manage to make her look even cuter? You did so good at this!” he praised, clearly impressed. And by the end of the day, you both decided to switch bowls as a keepsake of the memory.

The following day was spent having fun at the arcade. As soon as you both stepped inside, your eyes locked onto a claw machine filled with Sanrio plushies. You’d always wanted to try your luck at one of these machines, and the sight of the plushies sparked your excitement. Tugging on San’s shirt, you eagerly pointed to the machine. Before he could even ask, you grabbed his hand and pulled him towards it.

Peeking through the glass, you marveled at the assortment of cute plushies. A particular My Melody plush holding a strawberry, adorned with a red ribbon atop its head, caught your attention. “Look! I want that one,” you told San, pointing it out.

Without needing to be told twice, San inserted a coin into the machine. With expert precision, he maneuvered the claw and, on his first try, managed to snag the plushie. As the plushie dropped into the chute, San retrieved it and handed it to you with a triumphant smile. You squealed with delight, hugging the plushie tightly before impulsively wrapping San in a hug. Realizing what you were doing, you quickly pulled away, embarrassed. Little did you know, San wished the hug had lasted longer.

Next, you decided to try the dance machine. San insisted it would be fun, even if you both ended up looking ridiculous. As the music started, you both tried to follow the dance steps on the screen. You found yourself laughing uncontrollably at San’s exaggerated moves and his attempts to keep up with the fast-paced rhythm. Despite the occasional stumbles and missed steps, San’s determination to get it right made you laugh harder, and your shared laughter echoed through the arcade.

Afterward, you moved on to a basketball shooting game. San challenged you, confident he would win. “Prepare to lose,” he teased, smirking. Surprisingly, you gave him a run for his money, matching his score shot for shot. The competitive energy between you sparked playful banter and laughter. In the end, you narrowly lost, but San graciously declared you the winner of his heart, making you blush.

Next on your list was a visit to an art museum, a stark contrast from the loud arcade. The serene atmosphere offered a different kind of beauty, one that you both found captivating. As you wandered through the halls, you stopped frequently to admire various artworks—some by renowned artists and others new discoveries for you.

At one point, while you were deeply engrossed in a painting, San, standing behind you, quietly snapped a photo of you. He was about to take another when you turned around, smiling gently at him. Caught off guard, your face quickly turned to embarrassment as you walked over to him, covering your face and demanding to see the photo, fearing it might have caught you in an unflattering candid moment. However, to your surprise, the photo turned out beautifully.

Not wanting to be the only one captured candidly, you took his phone and insisted on taking his picture too. He protested, saying, “But if I know you’re taking a picture, it won’t exactly be candid, right?”

You waved off his objection, pushing him gently toward the artwork you were admiring. “Just act as if you’re admiring the painting,” you instructed. His shoulders shook as he tried to hold back his laughter, making you scold him lightly. Just as he turned to say something to you, you captured the perfect moment—his eyes closed in a genuine, joyful smile. Proud of the outcome, you showed him the photo. He smiled warmly, noting that you now had matching photos of each other.

Needless to say, you both spent the rest of the day not only admiring the artwork, but also one another.

Finally, the last item on your schedule was a simple yet meaningful stroll around the city. While it wasn’t exactly new to San, it was an entirely fresh experience for you, and he was more than eager to show you around and take you to places you had never visited before.

The first stop was a cozy cafe called ‘Heavenly Brews,’ a place he frequented and cherished. The signage outside was inviting, and inside, the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted you. San mentioned that one of his college friends worked there, and sure enough, behind the counter was a young man your age with long hair, busy making drinks. After a pleasant visit, where you enjoyed some of the best coffee you’d ever had, you left the cafe to explore more of the city.

As you walked, you passed by a lively tavern. The door was ajar, and you could see a bard passionately singing on a small stage, accompanied by a customer who seemed to be enjoying a spontaneous duet. The scene was vibrant and full of life, and it brought a smile to your face.

Continuing your journey, you noticed a large billboard featuring a famous football player. San noticed your curiosity and mentioned that he knew the guy personally. Surprised, you asked, “Really?” He nodded, explaining that the athlete on the billboard was the star of his college’s football team, and San himself had been part of that team too. This revelation added another layer to the fascinating person San was turning out to be.

You spent the rest of the day with him, walking through various streets and alleys, as he pointed out his favorite spots—places he had fond memories of and hoped to share with you. He mentioned wanting to visit all these places with you again, filling his voice with genuine enthusiasm.

Yet, despite his excitement, a pang of sadness tugged at your heart. The looming reality of your limited time made it hard to share his enthusiasm fully. Nevertheless, you managed a nod and a small smile, saying, “Yeah, I’d... I’d love to.”

—

San had told you to get ready for a special evening earlier during the morning by calling you, hinting at a surprise but refusing to divulge any details. “You’ll see,” was all he said as if wanting to leave you on a cliffhanger. He mentioned that your parents would drive you to the location, meaning they were in on the plan but remained tight-lipped about it. Confusion consumed you, but you got ready anyway, choosing to wear the dark red cardigan from your first meeting at the observatory. It held a fond memory and seemed fitting for the mysterious occasion.

As you walked downstairs, you noticed your parents waiting for you, their excitement evident. “What does San have planned?” you asked, unable to contain your curiosity.

They shared a knowing smile but refused to let you in on the details. Instead, they guided you gently to the sofa, their faces full of tenderness. “We just want to say how proud we are of you,” your father began, his voice thick with emotion and eyes glistening with unshed tears. He paused, seemingly collecting his thoughts, before continuing, “Despite everything you’ve been through, you’ve shown an incredible amount of strength and resilience. We see how hard it’s been, and yet, you’ve managed to keep moving forward. Your determination and courage are truly inspiring to us.”

Your mother, sitting beside him, reached out to take your hand, her grip warm and reassuring. Her eyes were shining with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. “And we’re so happy that you found San,” she said softly, her voice filled with emotion. “He’s been such a positive influence in your life. We’ve watched you grow so much with him by your side. You’ve learned to lean on him, and it’s beautiful to see how much joy and comfort he brings you. We couldn’t have wished for a better person to be with you during these times.” She squeezed your hand gently, as if trying to convey the depth of her feelings through that simple gesture.

You felt a lump form in your throat at their words, and just as you were about to ask them what’s tonight about for them to be so emotional, they stood up and gently ushered you to the car. “You’ll see soon enough,” your mother said with a soft smile.

The drive seemed to take forever, your mind racing with endless possibilities. When the car finally stopped, you found yourself at the base of a familiar cliff—the same one you had run to back then. As you stepped out of the car, you saw San waiting for you, looking even more breathtaking in his well-chosen outfit.

He greeted your parents warmly before they drove off, leaving you two alone. “You look incredible,” San said, his eyes practically sparkling with admiration. Blushing, you replied, “No, you do.”

“I thought I’d fix myself up a little since I want tonight to be a special moment,” he replied bashfully, making you tilt your head. “What’s up with everyone wanting to act strange today?”

San laughed, refusing to answer as all he did was take your hand in his before walking up the path, making sure you wouldn’t trip on anything throughout it. Just before reaching the top, he stopped in his tracks. “Stay still for a moment,” he said, moving behind you. You felt his hands cover your eyes, making you giggle in confusion.

“San, what are you doing?” you asked, half-laughing. “Just trust me,” he whispered. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”After a short walk, he finally asked, “Ready?”

You nodded, and he slowly removed his hands. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight before you. The top of the cliff was transformed into a magical setting. A blanket was laid out, surrounded by twinkling fairy lights strung from the trees. An assortment of treats and foods was spread out, and a telescope stood nearby—the same one from the observatory. There were also cozy blankets ready for use.

“San, this is… I don’t even know what to say,” you said, your voice full of appreciation as you looked around, the warm lights reflecting in your eyes.

He smiled, looking a little shy. “I just… I wanted to do something for you, something I knew you’d like.” Taking in every detail, your heart swelled with emotion. “You know me so well, don’t you?”

You and San sit comfortably on the picnic blanket, a cozy blanket draped over both of you. Although he had prepared separate blankets, you insisted on sharing his, and despite being initially caught off guard, he was quick to happily oblige. Your head rests on his shoulder, your hands wrapped around his arm, basking in the warmth and comfort of each other’s presence. The silence between you is soothing.

Suddenly, you lift your head from his shoulder, causing him to turn his head towards you immediately. “What’s the matter?” he asks, his voice laced with gentle concern.

You smile softly and say, “I’ve been thinking about what you said about knowing that pro football player on the billboard. You know, the one from your college team.”

“Ah, Wooyoung?” he replies, recognition lighting up his eyes. You nod. “Yeah, ever since you mentioned him, I’ve been curious about your college experiences, particularly the life you lived back then.”

San’s face lights up with a mix of nostalgia and amusement. “Well, Woo and I were practically inseparable during college,” he begins. “We were always up to something, whether it was football or just hanging out. Lots of professors absolutely hated seeing us together, cause they know that when we are, we’re always up to no good.”

“Are you still close?” you ask, intrigued. “Not as much as we used to be,” San admits with a slight sigh. “He’s a pro player now, so he’s quite busy. Plus, he’s in a different country at the moment. We still talk to each other through messages and calls every other day, but we don’t see each other often.”

A fond smile crosses his face as he recalls a particular memory. “Oh, you know, I remember helping him make a move on his crush back then. It was quite the operation, and now she’s his girlfriend. Funny enough, she’s the one who took the photo of him on the billboard since she’s a professional photographer.”

You laugh softly at the story. “Sounds like you had a fun college life.” San nods, a nostalgic smile on his face. “Yeah, it was a great time.”

As he speaks, you find yourself drifting into a daydream, wondering what life might have been like if circumstances were different. Would you have met San in college? Maybe you would have been one of the people cheering for him at his football games, or perhaps you both could have been like Wooyoung and his girlfriend.

San notices you spacing out and gently nudges your shoulder. “Hey, everything alright?”

You wave him off with a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.” But just as you lean your head back on his shoulder, a sudden pang hits your chest. You wince slightly but brush it off, not wanting to ruin the moment.

San continues to share more stories from his college days at your request. He talks about the time he accidentally kicked a football into the opposing team’s coach’s face, causing quite a commotion. You can’t help but laugh at the mental image. He also recounts a grocery spree gone wrong, where he and his friends were kicked out within minutes because he broke a shopping cart trying to ride it.

He tells you about the week-long silent treatment between him and Wooyoung over stolen loot in a video game, and how they eventually made up after realizing how silly the whole thing was. His eyes light up with passion as he describes spending countless hours in the local library, devouring books about astronomy. Sometimes he’d stay so late that the librarian reserved a special table for him, where he often lost himself in the wonders of the universe.

Each story he tells paints a vivid picture of his past, filled with laughter, mishaps, and the simple joys of youth. As you listen, you feel a mix of admiration and affection for him, grateful for the glimpses into the life he lived before you met.

Just as you’re about to lean your head back on his shoulder, a sharp pang hits your chest. The pain is more aggressive this time, making you feel like you’re being strangled by an invisible force. Your breath hitches, and you clutch your chest, struggling to breathe.

San’s eyes widen in alarm. “What’s wrong?” he asks urgently, his voice filled with panic.“San, I can’t—I can’t breathe—San, I—” you manage to gasp out, each word a struggle.

Panic grips San as he checks you for any signs of what’s happening, all while trying to calm you down. “Just breathe, okay? I’m right here. You’re gonna be okay.”

But you know this isn’t an anxiety attack. The context and intensity make that unlikely. Tears stream down your face as you grab San’s hands, your voice trembling. “I don’t wanna die... I don’t wanna die yet... San, please... please...”

San’s face crumples with emotion as he realizes what’s happening. He doesn’t want to lose you. Tears pour down his cheeks as he holds your face in his hands, trying to comfort you despite his own fear. “You’re not going anywhere, okay? Stay with me.”

The pain in your chest begins to subside, but the reality of the situation sets in. You both know what this means. With tears still streaming, you cup his face, gently wiping away his tears. “It’s... it’s gonna be alright, San. It’s gonna be alright, okay?”

He shakes his head, his sobs growing louder. “No, it’s not. I can’t lose you. Not now.”

You smile softly despite the pain. “San, listen to me. You’ve given me so much. You’ve made me so happy. This... this isn’t the end. You’ll carry me with you, in your heart, always. I promise.”

He holds you tighter, his heart breaking as he feels your strength fading. The stars above blur with his tears, and all he can think about is how unfair this is. But in this moment, all he can do is be there with you, for you, until the very end.

You look up at him, a calm expression on your face. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. We... we’ve always been meant to end like this, anyway. I’m so, so sorry that I still let you into my world despite knowing that. I’m so sorry for being a burden, for taking your presence for granted, and not considering how you’d feel when the time for us to part ways finally comes.”

San shakes his head vehemently, his tears flowing freely. “No, no, don’t say that. You will never be a burden. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t regret entering your world one bit.”

Tears well up again, but you hold them back. “Still, I’m sorry. I’m sorry we have to end this way, I’m sorry I can’t live any longer to visit all your favorite places with you. I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, I’m sorry we can’t live the life we both want to have. I’m sorry my fate has tainted our story. I’m sorry. But I... I want you to remember this.”

You let go of his hands momentarily, and he looks confused until you start signing the words, ‘you’ll forever be my star.’ His heart shatters even more.

“You learned that... for me?” he asks, his voice breaking with sobs.You nod with a smile. “For you.”

You take his hand again, your voice gentle. “I want you to remember that when you feel down, during the times you see yourself in a bad light, when you feel like you’re not doing well enough. Because even if there are days where you don’t feel like the best version of yourself, in my eyes, you’re still my star. The only star in the empty sky of my life.”

“When you reach your dreams, when your name is known enough to catch people’s attention, when you become the star of your field, I want you to look up there,” you say, pointing at the night sky, “and smile. Because I’ll be there, smiling back at you.”

You shift your weak body to lay your head on his lap while he gently strokes your hair. “I think I wanna stay like this for a while.”

A comfortable silence fills the air, broken only by San’s quiet sobs. As you start to feel your body shutting down, you hold his hand, looking up at him. “In another life?”

“In another life.”

—

San, now a renowned astronomer, sits in a sophisticated studio for an interview. His translator is seated beside him, ready to relay the questions in sign language. The interviewer begins by asking San about how his passion for astronomy started. For a brief moment, an image of you flickers in his mind—you had asked him the same question years ago at the observatory. Snapping out of his thoughts, he clears his throat, focusing on the question. His answer mirrors the one he gave you back then, detailing how a childhood fascination with the stars turned into a lifelong pursuit of knowledge.

The interviewer then inquires about how he feels regarding his success. While San provides a positive response, he can't help but bring you up. “If it weren’t for a certain person,” he starts, his voice tinged with emotion, “I don’t think I’d be here right now.” The interviewer asks for elaboration, and San recounts how he met you during a meteor shower. From the moment you expressed genuine curiosity about his dreams of becoming an astronomer, his motivation grew. “This person taught me that it’s okay to fall when you can’t fight anymore, that allowing yourself to be weak makes you stronger than pretending to always be strong.”

When asked if he’s still in touch with this person, San’s expression turns bittersweet. “I’d like to think of them as a meteor shower,” he says, his voice soft. “A passing light meant to remind me of the wonders of life, never meant to stay.”

Returning home, San finds himself gazing at the night sky through the glass windows of his penthouse. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper—a letter you wanted him to receive after you had passed away. Your parents gave it to him during your funeral.

“Hello, San :)

I hope this letter finds its way to you. I don’t know when exactly my timer will run out of seconds to spare, so I’m not sure when you’ll receive this. Still, when you do, I hope you’ll find comfort in reading this, whether you’re feeling tired, frustrated, or when you’re not feeling anything at all.

First off, did you know that the average day on Pluto lasts for 153.6 hours long? You definitely already do, but for now, please pretend you don’t. I read this on a science website while searching up how to cook food in an air fryer—don’t ask me the correlation between those two things—and I just wanted to impress you with it.

On a more serious note, though, I don’t think you’re aware of how much of an impact you’ve left in my life. Before I met you that night at the observatory, it was like I was trapped in this huge bubble of emptiness that I couldn’t make my way out of. Each day was practically hell on Earth for me, and tell you what, it used to be so hard for me to be positive, let alone try. Then you came into the picture with no warning beforehand, and I don’t know when exactly the shift in my world occurred, but it was like there was a lost candle in the very back of my soul that you, somehow, managed to find and light up.

You’re a really cool person, you know? So cool I’m willing to overlook the fact that you always wear glasses when you don’t even have poor eyesight. Your glasses look good on you, though, so I guess I’ll count that as a valid reason. You have this sort of comfortable energy that’s more than enough to put me at ease, and all your words of wisdom are so genuine that even a (retired) pessimist like me had grown to keep them engraved in my mind. Not only are you a cool astronomy nerd, but you own a cat, too! You know, I really wish I could’ve met Byeol when I was still there with you, but I guess there’s a next time for everything, right? Maybe in a different life, Byeol would be my cat instead. Or, even better, we could team up to co-parent him. Doesn’t that sound like a nice reality to live in?

You know, I wish I could be there with you to witness your success. I bet you’re reading this after coming across an article about you that a journalist had published. Or maybe after an interview schedule. Who knows? The possibilities are endless.

I’m starting to get sleepy now, so I’ll end this letter here. If you’re out there, having a hard time, always remember that I’ll always be here for you, even if it’s not in physical terms. I hope your heart now feels a little lighter after reading this, San. I’m so, so proud of you.”

Droplets of tears soaked the letter, and San silently sobbed. Looking above, he sees a single bright star in the empty night sky, and when he managed to put a smile on his face, the star twinkled back to him in return.

Perhaps in another life, you’d be a permanent star and not just a fleeting meteor.

🪞— lividstar.

[spartanseagoat]

Hey Babe, Let Me Tell You About Your Chiron Real Quick & Explain Why you are hurt

Hey y’all!! To kick off my new Astro page, I thought I would start off with some healing!

Who is Chiron?

Chiron in Greek Mythology was the Son of Kronos , other sources say Apollo and was a famous centaur. He was known for his vast knowledge of medicines and his overall deep wisdom. He was known for the arts as well. He was also an incredible teacher and taught many Greek heroes such as Hercules.

He was accidentally shot by a poisoned arrow and was unable to heal himself so Greek God Zeus honored him by giving him a place in the constellation known as Centaurus.

How does this play into astrology?

In astrology, Chiron is known as the “Wounded Healer and Teacher.” He represents the unhealed part of ourselves that we keep rehealing. Think of it this way, it’s like our triggers.

Imagine getting severely hurt physically , your wounds heal but now you have a nasty scar from that wound. Even though that wound is healed, you’ll always have that reminder of when you were in pain and it can be triggering.

You’ll never fully heal your Chiron but you can learn from it and how to grow as a person. Your Chiron wounds can be from past lives as well. You may have experienced this in your early childhood the most and it’s followed you through adulthood.

The parts of you that you need to start Healing based on the signs

*the house it’s in determine the area in life you are wounded in. Degrees of your placement also plays a part THIS IS A GENERALIZED BREAKDOWN!

Aries/1h- being hurt physically, not having confidence in yourself, not feeling bold. Don’t feel comfortable in the body you’re in. People saying mean things about your appearance, bullying was a big part of your early wounds.

Taurus/2h- your self worth, being homeless or struggling for home stability, financial struggles, feeling insecure about your voice or how you dress or look. Food struggles is another big one

Gemini/3h- you struggle with communicating your thoughts, having car or transportation struggles, having difficulties with siblings or co-workers. May have learning disabilities such as ADHD

Cancer/4h- you struggle with understanding your emotions and how to regulate them. Troubles with your home life or family, especially mother. Motherhood could be hard for you as well such as not wanting to be a mom or wanting to be one

Leo/5h- your inner childhood, being confident around others, don’t like being in the spotlight. Feel uncomfortable around children, bruised ego from childhood wound

Virgo/6h- suffer from perfectionism and wanting to be the best at everything. Physical Health related issues, work related issues, struggle with routines

Libra/7h- connecting with people one on one, relationship issues. Struggles with finding balance in your life, not having justice or fairness on your side. Struggles with trying to please everyone

Scorpio/8h- struggles with trusting others and being closed off, struggles with developing intimate connection with partners. Dealing with a death of a loved one at an early age, struggle with financial power and control. Power struggles in general

Sagittarius/9h- having a hard time communicating your beliefs and perspectives or people not understanding your worldview, struggles with broadening your view, traveling struggles, religious trauma, struggled in college/higher learning environments. Carry the world on their shoulders.

Capricorn/10h- struggles with ambition and setting long term goals, struggles with not getting recognition or the respect you earned. Struggles with responsibility. This can indicate being a workaholic as well

Aquarius/11h- feeling like an outcast from social circle or network. Having a hard time accomplishing your dreams fulfillment, struggles with social media or the internet in general. Struggles with seeing the good in humanity, being rebellious to the point of being reckless , always feeling uncomfortable in crowds.

Pisces/12h- lack boundaries with people, struggle to see people for who they are and put them on a pedestal, struggle with regulating your emotions due to feeling other people emotions, mental health struggles, addiction struggles, imprisonment struggles

Keep in mind this is a very broad and generalized reading. If you want me to make a detailed a post for each Chiron let me know here by voting!

[deconreconstruction]

13TH ANNIVERSARY NEWSPOST IS UP

...But, in case you need your news here, allow me to repost the text: "On this fine Monday, I'd like to proudly announce the plans for Vast Error's 13th anniversary! God, this project is as old as me and Heather were when we started making it. Isn't that terrifying?

This year we'll be hosting a 24 HOUR LIVESTREAM on the DCRC Twitch channel, not only to celebrate the occasion, but also to receive active donations in support of two Palestinian relief efforts: E-SIMS FOR GAZA and CARE FOR GAZA.

All proceeds earned during the event will go to the charities mentioned above. Our base goal is to fundraise at least $6,000 USD in aid, which sounds like a lot for a webcomic hosting site whose main export is, for all intents and purposes, a fan project. But there's one thing we've learned after doing this gig for so long: ambition and effort can go a long way if you know where to direct them.

And we don't intend to just stream. No, that's too easy. We also have several guests who will be joining us throughout the day, along with special events and incentives that will either happen on stream or coordinated afterwards as a direct result of your donations, with stretch goals that go up to $10,000 USD. This includes PREVIEWS, RAFFLES, MERCH REVEALS, PANEL REDRAWS, MUSIC PREVIEWS, MESSAGES FROM BEYOND, and MORE!

We'll be posting more about the event in the coming days leading up to its start. It would be great if you all did the same!

Let's make this the best birthday we've had yet by shattering those numbers and fighting for a better world."

[blakeswritingimagines]

Waiting (Kinktober)

Word Count: 2.8k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

In the vast and ancient lands of Westeros. Aegon the Conqueror, a man of great power and ambition, had been waging war and conquering kingdoms. As he traveled through his realm, he came across a young healer known for exceptional skills and a compassionate heart. You had earned a reputation for helping the sick and injured with your innate ability to heal. The renowned healer, was in the midst of tending to a patient one day when word reached you that the fearsome Aegon Targaryen, the self-proclaimed King of the Seven Kingdoms, was asking about you. A mixture of curiosity and trepidation washed over you. Rumors of his fearsome battle prowess and ruthless demeanor were renowned throughout the realm, making it hard to imagine why such a powerful king would take an interest in you. Upon hearing news of your existence, Aegon felt a spark of intrigue. It wasn't often that someone captured his attention, especially given his focus on matters of state and military conquest. Still, something about this healer intrigued him. He dispatched messengers to invite you to court, where he hoped to learn more about you and perhaps discover if there was a deeper reason he could use you.

As the messenger arrived at your modest abode, you were initially taken aback by the summons. You had spent your days quietly tending to the sick and injured in a small village, and the prospect of being called before the King himself was daunting. However, your curiosity and the desire to understand why the king would seek you out prevailed, and you accepted the invitation. The journey to King's Landing was long and treacherous, but you eventually arrived at the grand city and its imposing Red Keep. As you approached the castle, you could see the imposing structure rising high above the city, a symbol of Aegon's power and dominion. Nervously, you presented yourself before the King's advisors, requesting an audience with Aegon. They led you to the throne room, where you were greeted by the sight of the formidable conqueror seated atop his mighty throne. Despite his intimidating presence, there was something about his piercing gaze that made you feel like prey. "Ah, so you're the famous healer." You swallowed hard, trying to gather your courage as you stood before Aegon. His gaze was intense, and it was difficult not to shrink under the weight of his authority. Still, you managed to nod, your voice steady as you replied. "Yes, Your Grace. I am a healer renowned for my skills in treating the ill and injured."

Aegon studied you closely, taking note of your calm demeanor and your apparent sincerity. "I've heard much about your talents," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "It seems you possess a gift that many lack—the ability to mend bodies and souls alike." He paused, leaning back slightly on his throne. "Tell me, what inspires you to tend to the afflicted? What drives you to help others?" You took a moment to consider his question, your eyes meeting his gaze without flinching. "I…I believe that it is our duty as healers to alleviate suffering and bring comfort," you said, choosing your words carefully. "When I see someone in pain or in need, I cannot turn away. It is as if a force within me compels me to act, to use my skills to bring hope and healing to others." The king nodded slowly, a rare sign of contemplation crossing his face. "That is a noble cause," he acknowledged, his tone carrying both respect and a hint of admiration. "And it seems you have found your purpose, just as I have found mine through conquest and rule." He leaned forward again, his eyes locking onto yours once more. "But tell me, do you ever tire of the burden you carry?" You furrowed your brow, taken slightly aback by the unexpected nature of his question. Rarely, if ever, had someone asked you about the emotional toll of your profession. "Yes…" you admitted after a moment of hesitation. "There are days when the weight of it all feels overwhelming. When I see suffering that I cannot alleviate, or when the healing process is slow, it wears on me. But the gratitude in their eyes, the relief on their faces when they feel better — it is a reminder that what we do is crucially important. It gives me strength to carry on."

A flicker of understanding passed through Aegon's eyes as he listened to your response. "Strength," he mused aloud, "is a commodity that can come from many sources. In combat, it comes from physical might and strategic cunning. For you, it appears to stem from compassion and dedication." He paused, then added, "Perhaps you can help with a personal matter then." Your curiosity piqued, you regarded the king with a mixture of caution and interest. "Of course, Your Grace," you replied, your voice steady. "If there is something I can do, I will gladly offer my assistance." You said with a soft nod. "Everyone else may leave," Aegon commanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the throne room. His guards and advisors exchanged glances, some looking uncertain, but they obeyed without question, leaving the two of you alone in the vast chamber. As the room emptied, leaving you alone with Aegon, a mixture of unease and anticipation settled upon you. The king's commanding presence filled the space, and you couldn't help but wonder what he wanted to discuss in private. "There is a personal matter I wish to discuss with you," Aegon said, his voice low and serious. "A condition that plagues me, one that few know about." He hesitated for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. "I require your discretion. Will you hear me out and keep what I say in confidence?" You regarded Aegon with an even gaze, the weight of his words sinking in. Taking a deep breath, you replied with a firm nod. "Of course, Your Grace. I understand the importance of discretion, especially with matters of personal health. You have my word—whatever you tell me will remain confidential."

Satisfied with your promise, Aegon leaned back in his throne once more, his gaze distant as he began to speak. "As you know, I am no stranger to conflict," he started, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. "Yet there is a wound that does not heal, a pain that persists despite my best efforts at recovery." Your interest was thoroughly piqued now. A wound that would not heal, a pain persisting despite the king's best efforts—it was an intriguing mystery. You leaned forward subtly, listening intently as Aegon continued. "The pain manifests itself in my joints, particularly in my shoulders and hips," Aegon explained, rubbing at the affected areas unconsciously. "It comes and goes, sometimes worse than others, but it has plagued me for years now." He looked up at you, his expression grave. "I fear it may worsen over time, impacting my ability to lead effectively." The gravity of his predicament struck you, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. The idea that the mighty Aegon himself was plagued by a mysterious illness was surprising, to say the least. You ran through various possible conditions in your mind, trying to piece together what could be causing such pervasive joint pain. "Have you sought the aid of healers before?" you asked, your voice soft and compassionate. Aegon let out a dry chuckle, though there was little humor in it. "Healers have attended to me," he confirmed. "They have prescribed remedies, applied poultices, even performed blood magic rituals. Yet nothing seems to provide lasting relief." He sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of his words. "I seek new perspectives and fresh ideas. That is why I brought you here—to consult with you, a healer of renown."

The weight of his words sank upon you, and your mind went into overdrive as you began considering possible diagnoses. Joint pain, persistent despite many treatments—it was a challenging puzzle to solve. After a moment, you spoke, your voice steady and thoughtful. "If traditional methods have proven ineffective, we may need to explore alternative explanations. Tell me, has there been a particular incident or event that preceded the onset of your symptoms?" Aegon's gaze drifted off again, lost in thought as he recalled past events. "There was a battle… near Storm's End," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was thrown from my horse and landed badly. Perhaps that was the catalyst." He shook his head, clearly frustrated with himself for not being able to pinpoint the exact cause. Your mind latched onto his words, and you nodded slowly. "I see…an injury during a battle could certainly be a potential cause for your current symptoms. It's possible that you may have sustained some form of internal or joint damage during the fall." You paused for a moment, your thoughts racing. "Would you mind if I examine you? It may help me get a better understanding of your condition." Aegon considered your request, his face a mask of uncertainty. Exposing his body to someone, even for medical purposes, was not something he was accustomed to. But the need for answers seemed to outweigh his reservations. "Very well," he agreed, standing up from his throne. "Let us proceed." You nodded gratefully, appreciating his trust in you. "Thank you, Your Grace. If you would, please remove your tunic so I can examine your shoulders and hips more closely."

With a heavy sigh, Aegon removed his ornate tunic, revealing the muscular torso beneath. Despite his age, he still carried the strength of a man who had spent much of his life in combat. You noted the way his muscles tensed slightly as he revealed himself to you, a sign of both discomfort and reluctant submission to your examination. Observing Aegon's exposed skin, you gently palpated his shoulders and hips, feeling for any signs of tenderness or deformity. Your touch was light yet firm, and you paid close attention to each area where he reported pain. "Your muscles seem strong enough," you observed. "But there might be underlying issues within your joints themselves. We'll need further testing to confirm this." As you finished your examination, your fingers lingering perhaps a bit longer than strictly necessary on certain sensitive areas, Aegon's breathing grew heavier. There was a glimmer of heat in his violet eyes as they met yours. "Is there anything else you require, my lady?" he asked, his voice low and suggestive. Your touch lingered just a tad longer than necessary, savoring the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Pulling away reluctantly, you stood up straight and turned to face him. "For now, Your Grace," you murmured, your own breath quickening at the proximity between you. "However, I believe we should consider a more thorough evaluation to fully understand the extent of your condition."

Aegon's gaze held yours, his purple eyes dark with a simmering desire. "And how would you suggest we conduct such an evaluation?" he asked, his voice thick with suppressed longing. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you until you could almost taste the air around him. The king's closeness sent shivers down your spine, and you found yourself acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies. "Perhaps…a massage," you suggested your voice barely above a whisper. "To relax your muscles and assess the depth of the issue." Your hands instinctively moved to rest on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. Aegon's response was immediate, a deep groan escaping his lips as your hands pressed against him. "A most… unconventional approach," he breathed out, his own hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you ever so slightly towards him. "Yet one that holds promise." The sensation of his hands on your body ignited a fire within you, and you leaned into his touch, your breasts pressing against his bare chest. "Unconventional, indeed," you replied, your voice husky with arousal. "But sometimes, the unorthodox path leads to unexpected discoveries." With a growl, Aegon pulled you flush against him, his hard length pressing against your stomach. "Then let us embark on this uncharted journey together," he murmured into your ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. "Who knows what secrets our bodies may reveal?"

The heat radiating off Aegon was intoxicating, and you found yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze. "As you wish, Your Grace," you whispered back, your hands sliding down his sides to grip his buttocks firmly. You pushed your pelvis against him, grinding lightly against his throbbing member through the fabric of your clothes before slowly kissing down his body until you were on your knees before him. Aegon's breath hitched at the sensation of your lips trailing over his skin. "By the Seven," he muttered, his fingers tangling in your hair as you descended. The sight of you on your knees before him, looking up with those sultry eyes, was enough to make his knees weak. "Be gentle," he commanded, though his tone belied the fact that he craved nothing more than your rough ministrations. Your tongue darted out to lick across the head of his manhood, tasting the salty essence of his arousal. Moaning softly, you wrapped your lips around him and began to suckle, taking him deeper into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. One hand reached up to fondle his balls while the other stroked his shaft, alternating between gentle caresses and firmer squeezes. The pleasure surged through Aegon's body like wildfire, his hips involuntarily thrusting forward to meet your movements. "Gods…" he moaned, his grip on your hair tightening. Every flick of your tongue, every pull of your lips sent jolts of pure bliss coursing through him. "More," he gasped, his command punctuated by a sharp intake of breath.

Encouraged by his reaction, you increased the pace, sucking harder and bobbing your head faster along his length. Your free hand roamed over his thighs, kneading the muscle as you worked diligently to bring him to the edge. You felt a strange satisfaction in knowing that you, a common healer, could elicit such reactions from someone as powerful and revered as Aegon. The sensations were overwhelming, and Aegon could no longer hold back. With a roar that echoed throughout the room, he came undone, his seed spilling into your welcoming mouth. His entire body shook with the force of his release, and he swore under his breath, a string of oaths that would have made a sailor blush. After swallowing every last drop, you released him from your mouth and gazed up at him with a satisfied smirk. "Quite the potent draught you possess, Your Grace," you teased, licking your lips clean of any remaining traces of his essence. Licking his length clean before taking him into your mouth once more. Aegon's legs trembled, and he had to brace himself against the wall behind him to stay upright. "By the old gods and the new," he panted, "you're quite skilled with your mouth." His hands guided you, urging you to continue although he knew he shouldn't allow himself to succumb so easily. Your eagerness to please him was evident in the way you eagerly took him back into your mouth, sucking and licking with renewed vigor. The sound of your wet noises filled the room, and you reveled in the knowledge that you were responsible for the ragged sounds coming from the mighty King.

Aegon's control snapped completely, and he let out a string of curses as he reached his second climax, pumping his seed down your throat once again. This time, however, he didn't hold back, letting go with a primal intensity that left him panting and shaking. When it was finally over, he slumped against the wall, his chest heaving with exertion. "That was…unexpected," he admitted, his voice hoarse from shouting. Rising gracefully to your feet, you pressed yourself against Aegon's still trembling form, your curves molding perfectly against his hard planes. "Unexpected but pleasurable, I hope," you purred, nipping playfully at his jawline. Your hands roamed over his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles as if committing them to memory. "Did it help you feel better, your grace?" Aegon nodded slowly, still trying to catch his breath. "It did indeed," he confessed, his eyes locked onto yours. There was something about the way you looked at him, so confident and full of desire, that stirred a hunger within him. He reached up, cupping your face gently in his large hand. "And now it is my turn to repay the favor," he said, his voice low and intense.

[fsfghgee]

|https://www.tumblr.com/inflamedrosenkranz/767768929637679104/come-to-think-of-it-its-possible-that-one-of-the|

@inflamedrosenkranz

Another interesting fact is that even though Cyrax's disrespect is frequent in the expansion, I highly doubt that she would tease Sektor about taking her place and feel so much contempt for Bi-Han's display of affection for Sektor if she knew that Bi-Han and Sektor were a married couple..

And in the intro between Cyrax and Sektor, Cyrax really sounds like someone who only found out about the romantic relationship between Bi-Han and Sektor after the attack on the wedding, because she really says with conviction in an intro that Sektor's love for Bi-Han blinded her, when since Bi-Han took over as grandmaster they have been on this quest to rule Earthrealm, with Bi-Han constantly referring to everything as "our", "we". And Sektor herself suggesting a better alternative to continue with their plans after Bi-Han thinks about stealing the dragon army:

"I had broken the Lin Kuei free of Liu Kang's enslavement. We were now masters of our destiny and could take our place among Earthrealm's greatest nations. But taking and holding territory would require a vast army. I needed more fighters to make our presence felt. Then I recalled Shang Tsung's dragon warriors. An army of them would be unstoppable. But trafficking in such strong magic would surely draw Liu Kang's attention. Sektor advised that we avoid detection by building our army using science, not sorcery. We've invested much time in this endeavor, and we are beginning to see results. Once again proving the depths of Sektor's genius. When we are done, all of Earthrealm will honor our desires and heed our demands. If not, they will face the Lin Kuei's wrath."

__SUB-ZERO CANONICAL ENDING

Cyrax: Love for Bi-Han has made you blind. Sektor: It is you who can't see the Lin Kuei's future.

Either Cyrax is extremely deluded about Sektor's character to the point of believing that she is doing everything out of love for Bi-Han without any conscience or she really didn't know that the two were lovers for a long time and planned everything together from the beginning.

Besides, according to Sektor's bio, Bi-Han only had dreams when he fell in love with Sektor, he had no plans at all. They became intimate, Bi-Han shared his dreams with her, she joined his efforts (which could range from influencing more Lin Kuei to think like them to actually developing a plan to rule Earthrealm) and made her his lieutenant (second in command of the Lin Kuei). However, how would he make her second in command of the Lin Kuei with his father still alive? And how could Sektor not have been disgusted by Bi-Han for letting his father die (like all the other characters) when she seeks to honor her family and is a filial daughter to Longwei?

To put it simply, they were already lovers when Bi-Han's father was still alive. And the way Bi-Han talks about his father's death without any remorse, continually despises his father for his loyalty to Liu Kang, and points out that his father also used to scold him for his ambition like Kuai Liang did to him throughout the story mode, it is quite clear that Bi-Han's father reprimanded his desires for the clan and did not approve of his choices. Whether those choices included marrying Sektor is not made clear. She was even Tomas' master, so it's hard to say she wasn't respected in the clan. It's also not clear whether being a master armorer is a high-caste position in the clan (because Sektor's position is only high and she has that much influence because Bi-Han made her lieutenant – second in command of the Lin Kuei – not because she's been master armorer since her father retired), but if Bi-Han's father already had marriage plans for him or if he saw that Sektor supported Bi-Han in what he disagreed with, it's easy to imagine that his father wouldn't approve of a marriage union between the two. Besides, Sektor was the first to know that Bi-Han let his own father die, and despite having no problem with her father, she doesn't repudiate the fact that Bi-Han had influenced his own father's death. Which leads us to believe that she didn't like the old man either.

Another interesting thing is that the only ones who knew about Sektor and Bi-Han's relationship before she left on the mission to rescue him from the titan Havik and they had that cute moment followed by an almost public dtr were Liu Kang (the god who could?can see what they are doing through the hourglass with the help of Geras), Shao and Reiko (the only allies that Bi-Han really trusted, developed a friendship with and spent a good amount of time with the group of Lin Kuei that he had taken to support Shao's rebellion in OutWorld while he was still Sub-Zero).

 Do not doubt Sektor's hatred of Havik's chaos, or her longing for Sub-Zero's safe return.

Sektor: I expect Bi-Han to make a full recovery. Liu Kang: Given the complexity of Havik's magic, I can make no promises.

Liu Kang: I have only ever wanted what's best -- Sektor: I am sure you believe that, too.

Liu Kang: There will be no conspiring with Quan Chi. Sektor: You're a god, aren't you? Stop me.

Liu Kang: How did you breach the Temple of the Elements?! Sektor: I will not share that secret.

Liu Kang: You should have trusted me, Sektor. Sektor: Why?! You left Bi-Han to rot.

Sektor: I couldn't leave you locked away in the Temple. Noob Saibot: You were right to be impatient.

Liu Kang: Sektor should have trusted me to heal you. Noob Saibot: You should not have made her wait.

Quan Chi: You were supposed to retrieve the amulet. Sektor: Saving Bi-Han was all that matttered.

Noob Saibot: How would you eliminate the Shirai Ryu? Quan Chi: Fetch the amulet as I asked and I will tell you.

Sektor: The Temple is secured now. The amulet can't -- Quan Chi: That is your problem, Sektor. Not mine.

Sektor: Our deal is off. I no longer -- Quan Chi: I thought Lin Kuei honored their word.

Quan Chi: Sektor refuses to abide our agreement. Noob Saibot: I won't force her hand, sorcerer.

Noob Saibot: You tried enlisting Sektor against me?! Quan Chi: Not against you. To help you see reason.

Noob Saibot: Leave. Before this gets ugly. Quan Chi: I am here to haggle. But if we must fight, so be it.

Kitana: Liu Kang allowed you to replace Bi-Han? Sektor: He hopes for reconciliation that will never come.

Cyrax: With Sektor as the Lin Kuei's grandmaster -- Smoke: I know. They could be even *more* dangerous.

I mean, even Smoke and Cyrax know that Sektor is more intelligent than Bi-Han and therefore capable of making the Lin Kuei even more capable of achieving the goal of ruling Earthrealm and yet Liu Kang sent Sektor back to the Lin Kuei and allowed her to exercise the power that Bi-Han had given her as lieutenant. All because he truly believed that she would spend years sitting on the ice throne waiting for his goodwill to give news about Bi-Han and that she would never have access to the place where Bi-Han was locked up…

Liu Kang: How did you breach the Temple of the Elements?! Sektor: I will not share that secret.

Geras: Defying Liu Kang's wishes -- Sektor: Is a choice I don't regret.

Geras: If you love Bi-Han, return him to Liu Kang. Sektor: It's because I do that I cannot.

Noob Saibot: If Liu Kang seeks to punish Sektor -- Geras: It would be his right to do so.

And although it is not clear how long the Lin Kuei supported Shao's rebellion in Outworld, according to the intros it was enough time for Sektor to know the level of Reiko's submission to Shao:

Sektor: No man deserves the deference you give Shao. Reiko: Clearly you do not know him as I do.

Enough time for Reiko to develop an admiration for Sektor's skills:

Reiko: You should be a weapon in the General's arsenal. Sektor: The Lin Kuei won't partner wih him again.

Enough time for Shao and Reiko to realize that Bi-Han and Sektor are lovers, although not even they know if they have an equal relationship:

Reiko: Do you share Bi-Han's power? Or just his bed? Sektor: Careful, Reiko. Disrespect can be fatal.

General Shao: Sub-Zero sends his woman after me? Sektor: He sends his most skilled warrior.

Enough time for Sektor to repudiate Shao for not keeping his word:

Sektor: Of all the duplicitous snakes -- General Shao: My loyalty is to Outworld, not the Lin Kuei.

Sektor: You made a deal with us, General. General Shao: One which no longer serves my purpose.

Sektor: Bi-Han risked everything to free you. General Shao: Not every gamble pays, Sektor.

And out of male chauvinism or just plain stupidity, Shao believes that Sektor is Bi-Han's property and her no means nothing:

General Shao: I need Sektor's services. Noob Saibot: You should have thought of that before freezing me out.

Reiko: What will it take for you to equip our army? Sektor: There isn't enough gold in the realms.

Sektor: I won't build weapons for you. General Shao: Then you will die by mine!

Bi-Han and Sektor are definitely a couple, but I agree that they are not legally married yet and by the way they managed to deceive Cyrax I can't help but wonder how long Bi-Han has been a grandmaster and how long ago exactly his father died

....

[bitter-sweet-coffee]

What theory do you have regarding Babylon's loss of wings? I can understand if it's just how their species looks, but Rouge having wings while they don't seems strange to me. Sega even gave Honey the Cat white feathered angel wings, but not the actual bird species. 🫠

(I myself put slits on the back lol)

Okay Anon, this may seem like an easy answer question, but (un)fortunately, it is not! I have a lot to say on this, so much so that I whipped out my laptop and a word document to answer you, so let's delve into my personal lore for Babylonians, birds, and mobian-human relations: this isn't my official post for it, but until I have time to write a 900K word document on what the hell my canon is, THIS IS AS GOOD AS IT GETS!

CONTEXTUAL NOTE: I wouldn't classify this as a disclaimer, but I want to explain to the other people in these large tags what this post is. No, I am NOT claiming this is canon lore. No, it is not an AU. This is my personal canon-adjacent lore that has been carefully crafted with thoroughly intense regards to every piece of relevant source materials, going as far back as concept pieces from development. In order to make things work for MY canon, details have been changed and will sometimes contradict fragments of regular canon. Could I make everything cohesive and non-contradictory? Yes, and that's a different project of mine. This is my sandbox, you don't have to play in it (but it would be REALLY fun if you joined me :p) ONE LAST THING: I started writing this the second you sent it to me, then abandoned it until now where I did 90% of the writing. I am tired and slightly incoherent but I wanted it done, so sorry if it's rushed. You can send me more asks to clarify but I mean... i will probably make it worse lmao

THE CURSE OF BABYLON: OUR FALLEN ANGELS

HISTORY

1.1 Babylonians in Space

The Babylonians originate from the planet Babylon (lol duh), which is currently too far away from the major galaxies around Earth/Mobius to pinpoint an exact location, or who their neighbouring planets were. (Translation: one day I will design the star systems of the Sonic universe, but today is not that day!)

While most of the Babylonians reside on their home planet, exploration ships did go out in search of new technology, as these aliens pride themselves on their Treasure and Greatness. One of the common misconceptions about Babylonians is that 'treasure' translates to items of monetary value, but what they actually sought out was new technological advancements so they could pull from other developing planets and take what they've learned to improve their own inventions. This distorted sentiment is a tragic detail that spoils the reputation and ambition of the Babylonian descendants who have lost the true meaning of their heritage, but it's safe to say that some of them still think this way (cough, Wave and Tekno, cough).

Circling back to the point at hand though, I want to make it very clear that the Babylonians of Earth/Mobius are NOT the entire species, nor are they pure Babylonians. The real Babylon exists lightyears away, lost to the vastness of the universe, and Babylon Garden (Astral Babylon) was merely one ship that had been scouting various galaxies for new technology.

While it is not inherently relevant to the topic at hand, there was a brief moment in pre-crash Babylonian history where they were in alliance with the Black Arms. This took place before the war on Argentium with the Xorda, as the Babylonians tend to remain neutral during conflicts that do not concern them, but back on Babylon there are a separate class of Babylonian-Black Arms hybrids known to us as Corvids. The black pigment of these birds combined with their superior intelligence and durability was given to them through the power of chaos energy, something Babylonians do not possess in concentrated amounts when compared to other alien species, but was the result of crossbreeding with Black Arms. While there were some Corvids on Babylon Garden, the ship that crashed onto Earth/Mobius, many were made once more once the Babylonians had settled on the planet, welcoming a new, less potent version of this genetic branch. These Corvids are less powerful due to the weakened genetic purity of the Earth/Mobius-bound Babylonians, but they are still exceedingly brilliant, albeit near-extinct by present day.

1.2 Babylonians on Earth/Mobius

After travelling to the Nameless Zone and having a close call with the Berzerkers, Babylon Garden (the ship known as Astral Babylon) managed to emergency warp one last time to Earth/Mobius, the nearest dominant zone. Because of the damage caused by the Berzerkers, they disconnected the Ark of the Cosmos which had been used to manipulate gravity and warp them anywhere in space. This particular vessel was thus stranded on the planet, but their hopes of being found by other Babylonians who could bring them back home are the reason why Babylonians (and anyone in general) are inclined to make wishes on shooting stars. Making do with an 'inferior' planet, the Babylonians got somewhat of a negative reputation for their reclusiveness on their island, and superiority complexes when interacting with the planet's other inhabitants.

As the Babylonians split into different factions based on 3 major dogmas (which we will examine later) they developed a range of reputations. Because humans look down on mobians, the Babylonians which assimilated with other mobians were treated about as poorly as them. Contrastingly, Battle Kukus and the Battle Bird Armada are praised, respected, and in alliance with human society, especially the government. Their alienness has long been forgotten as Babylonian in origin, but their distinction from other mobians makes humans trust them more. If anything, the dominant public opinion is that "these ones aren't so bad, they can keep the inferior breeds of mobian in-line" which is fucked up to say the least. The Babylon Rogues are still regarded as Babylonian, and yet, hardly known, so they are as invisible and neutral as you can get. The modern reputations of these factions will be brought up again later from a current point of view, but it is safe to say that we have a full range of Babylonian reputation spanning from negative to positive.

1.3 Humans

Humans are racist, big shock! I won't dwell on it too much since this will eventually get its own post, but humans and Babylonians are biologically compatible, meaning there are plenty of humans who have Babylonian heritage. I don't mean like our REAL Babylonian descendants, which I feel like I should clarify. The non-fictional and historical city of Babylon (located in modern day Iraq) was named after the alien Babylon/Babylonians (in Sonic, obviously) because the biblical Tower of Babel depicted the tale of humans trying to reach heaven by building vertically: this sentiment being shared with the Babylonians who looked to the stars and longed to return home to Babylon. So, essentially, the history is reversed here!

Some humans worshipped the Babylonians, and there were a good number of them who had Babylonian-Human children. They turned out normal, arguably more normal than the ones who ended up with mobians, but the racism kinda discouraged this. There was a good deal of fetishization of these hybrids so they don't exist anymore, not to mention how the recessive nature of Babylonian traits discourages this practice. BASICALLY, a lot of humans have some percentage of Babylonian DNA, but it's barely detectable in the modern age… it DID happen though.

GENETICS

2.1 Babylonians

Even back on their home planet, the trait of having full sets of wings was recessive. You can see even by looking at murals of Babylonians provided in the games:

Wings? Where are the WINGS?!? I mean, there's this:

... but if we zoom out:

it is clear that while full sets of wings exist, few Babylonians had them, and the ones that did were ranked higher and even worshipped for their abilities, making them angelic to some extent.

So, considering that only a "small" (subjective) portion of Babylonians were on Babylon Garden when it crashed, it is safe to say that our starting numbers for the winged gene are… actually not as minimal as we might initially think. (But I just mentioned a hierarchy???)

More specifically, there are two types of wings we are going to examine: forearm wings, and back wings. The former are more common albeit still not universally inherited, and the latter were always persons of great status and power, as marked by their organic ways of flight. Since our Babylonians could not go back home or attain more fully-winged persons, this immediately impacted social hierarchies with even more emphasis being placed on genetic superiority.

I am going to simplify the genetics, but essentially, the rules are as follows:

Back-wings are an AUTOSOMAL RECESSIVE trait. This means that both parents must be carriers for there to even be a chance of inheritance. Here is a handy dandy visual I stole from google images because I am too lazy to draw you a punnett square:

Armed-wings are an AUTOSOMAL DOMINANT trait. Look at the chart above, any square with a dominant letter (R) inherits the trait. Essentially, unless both parents are recessive with no forearm-wings (rr and rr) a Babylonian will inherit the trait.

Carriers of the Back-wing trait have a 50% chance of having armed-wings. Don't ask how this works, assume it is magic if you don't know genetics that well (genetics are magic anyways LOL)

From this, it is quite evident how traditional (back) wings phased out of the genepool. While it is true that non-Babylonians can carry the back-wing gene (mobians who have wings), Babylonians by nature are almost always recessive! Birdness? Recessive. Tall, humanoid proportions? Recessive. So while mating with a winged-mobian increases the likelihood of having a set of proper wings, the offspring will almost always be the same species as the mobian parent. Thus, it is far more likely for a modern day Babylonian descendant to have armed-wings as opposed to back-wings, which require a very lucky combination of genetic makeup to present as a trait.

Forearm-wings are capable of gliding and sometimes flight, but are very limiting in terms of regular mobility since the arms would have to be somewhat underdeveloped to work as wings. It's also a bitch to try and hold things or wear shirts when your long feathers take up so much space, not to mention how you'll have to choose between flight and non-restrictive clothing. Weight is also a factor, as there is not enough power in arm-flapping to fly, unless one is very light. Furthermore, while a Babylonian child may fly with forearm-wings, they will probably grow out of it.

2.2 Evolution via Assimilation

The recessive nature of Babylonian genes also explains how they evolved to look more akin to mobians than humans. The modern day Babylon Rogues and much of the Battle Bird Armada pass as mobians, hence why Babylonian heritage is long forgotten and perhaps extinct according to most. However, the genes swing both ways: many non-birds (both mobian and human) are also some percentage of Babylonian, the traits are just recessive (making them carriers). There's a huge mutation that I'm about to cover, but it is safe to say that foxes are probably the utmost carriers of it!

2.3 Mutated Genes

There are two main mutations I want to talk about, so I will section them off. I'm sure people can think of more, and I do have a handful in the works, but the ones that are interesting and important to my lore are as follows:

a) Blue Eyes

Ever notice how essentially, across the comics and games, basically every single bird has blue eyes? Speedy and Soar are the only two who are given eye colours outside of blue (they have brownish-red eyes) with the rest having either no colour (black) or blue. When you take a look at who else has blue eyes, basically all the foxes do! Look deeper, and a lot of the characters with heightened intellect/wit or innovative skills have blue eyes. I'm not saying all innovative characters have blue eyes, that's racist, but all of the characters with blue eyes are either birds, smarties, or both. Some of this is character design prejudice, as I am a sucker for beautiful brown eyes mwah, but the pattern does exist.

Wait… what about Eggman? Maria? ELISE, WHOSE ROYAL CREST IS ALSO A BIRD? Need I remind everyone that the real life blue-eye mutation was traced back to a common ancestor? BLUE EYES ARE ALSO RECESSIVE, JUST LIKE ALL OTHER BABYLONIAN TRAITS! I SAID IT FOR A REASON, GUYS! I've constantly brought up how Babylonians are equally compatible with humans and mobians, and it is because this genetic mutation was the result of breeding with Babylonians. Blue eyes are an alien trait that for Earth/Mobius, was Babylonian in origin. It goes beyond blue eyes though, because these inventor-types with blue eyes also tend to be taller and leaner, making them somewhat comparable to the original mural depictions of the Babylonians.

Take it or leave it, I'm not claiming this was intentional or intended to be canon… but it is. To ME. When you combine real genetics with anthropomorphic furries, you're allowed to take some liberties and come up with fun ways to explain certain genetic traits. (I also failed to mention earlier that foxes exist in the Nameless Zone and were tied to the fall of Babylon, so it makes sense that Babylonians upon crashing to Earth/Mobius would seek familiarity in the mobian foxes already inhabiting the planet, thus tying the wit of kitsune to the innovation of Babylonians on a historic level.) Oh and before I move on, blue eyes are a recessive trait in almost every circumstance... the exception is to Babylonians, where it is a dominant trait. Brown eyes, if you are a bird, are recessive, hence why we only have 2 instances of brown eyes! Okay, there might be a few other background character birds I'm missing, but we either cannot see their eyes, or they're black (stylistic) or BLUE! Let me have this lol

b) Ovisanguitan Testalysis (OT)

Wow, that's a fancy name for "eggs no work" isn't it? This may come as a surprise, but Babylonians did not lay eggs, they are viviparous: need I repeat myself on how they're humanoid? Anyways, while Babylonians have viviparous births, mobian birds that are NOT Babylonian still exist. It might feel like I am pulling this out of nowhere, and perhaps it is a bit hypocritical for me to say "not all birds are going to be Babylonian!" after attributing an entire recessive trait to them two seconds ago, I firmly believe that birds exist outside of Babylon with no genetic ties. This is because… (inhales) BABYLONIANS ARE NOT BIRDS! THEY ARE BIRD-ESQUE, BUT THEY ARE HUMANOID BIRD-ESQUE CREATURES! Wanna know what else look like birds? BATS! DINOSAURS! DRAGONS! CERTAIN INSECTS!

Just because the Babylonians pride themselves on their birdness, it does not necessitate that birdness is exclusive to Babylonians. However, if modern day Babylonians are birds who have assimilated to be very mobian in composition, it would seem that they would be conceived and developed via eggs, not viviparously. As I established though, Babylonian traits are recessive, and therefore still possible (though not probable) given the right genetic composition.

Some modern day Babylonians then, have a reproductive disorder called Ovisanguitan Testalysis, known as OT. While egg-laying mobians develop about 1/3rd of their offspring inside their body before laying, with the latter part of development occurring independently inside the egg which hatches when completed, Babylonians initially gave birth at the end of term like humans do. Modern day Babylonians with OT will "lay" the same time regular egg-laying mobians do, aka after the first trimester, but because of their Babylonian genes, their body does not physically form a shell around the embryo before it is expelled. Without a shell, this is essentially a VERY premature birth that cannot be incubated or salvaged, and is more comparable to an abortion or miscarriage resembling a bloody clump of cells than a premature child.

There are very few instances where Babylonians with OT are able to prevent their bodies from expelling the embryo prematurely with enough calcium supplements and full-time hospitalization that prevents the premature rejection of the fetus, but because the Babylonians with this disorder are almost always Rogues (I'll probably explain that later) it is essentially just a very rare disorder which affects a small population that aren't even registered as legal citizens to any country. It is not IMPOSSIBLE to successfully have a child with OT, just highly unlikely, and they will probably be underdeveloped in some areas (the most likely defect being a lack of immune system… so the child will probably die from disease even if they make it to term).

Also, if someone with OT were to carry a child to term via medical intervention, the strain this puts on their body will most likely kill them, and if by some miracle they survive, they will be incapacitated as they will never fully recover from the nutrient drainage and overall stress this puts on the body. If this rant feels completely out of place in this response let me have it please, where else am I gonna mention it!?

DOGMAS

With regards to the Babylonians on Earth/Mobius, there are certain branches of absolute belief (dogmas) that they dispersed into, each one thinking they are superior over the other two. These might not seem directly related to your question, but it provides so much scope for how genes are relevant to the three dogmas. Also, with all these groups splitting off, the genetic odds of back-wings decreases significantly.

3.1 Assimilate

Most Babylonians assimilated with the mobians… okay, and the humans. There are humans who have Babylonian DNA even in modern times, but I think we all know who the more obvious choice was, considering the racism and all. These Babylonians found no reason to fight internally about their blood purity or distinct alien features because birds already exist in the universe outside of Babylon. Being more bird-like has nothing to do with surviving as a species, so the truth of the matter is that a lot of Babylonians couldn't care less and therefore didn't! Due to most Babylonians adopting this dogma, the physical, recessive traits disappeared almost immediately, with wings being first to go.

3.2 The Battle Birds

Initially, the only group that existed outside of assimilation were the Battle Kukus, or the Battle Bird Armada. They believed in Babylonian supremacy, and still exist to this day with the same dogma more or less. However, the way Kukus go about defining "Babylonian" is… based on their birdness, combined with regular eugenics, of course. Kukus pride themselves on strength and unity as a faction, with defected birds being snuffed out and eaten up until recent decades… that we know of. They probably still are cannibals lol.

Despite their disdain for other creatures of flight, non-birds with wings can produce viable children for the Kukus and are permitted to do so, as the Kukus only desire the FITTEST members, not the ones with the most Babylonian DNA. More on this in a second, let's circle back to the non-bird policy. I want to make it clear that this is not a good thing, because the Armada is only using winged-mobians for the increased likelihood of the recessive wings trait! They need to be the ones carrying by the way, so it gets prejudiced and sick from every angle: come on now, we can't just use winged mobians for breeding farms… doesn't stop them though! However, only birds can join the Armada, and because of how it is often one or the other (you either are a bird or have back-wings) most of these "outsourced" offspring are not Kukus.

Kukus pride themselves on their birdness, so forearm-wings are permitted for those of adequate status: you have to clip them back until you are given permission to fly. They despise the use of flight-based technology, as it makes flight accessible to non-birds, which as we know, pisses them the fuck off.

3.3 The Babylon Rogues

The Babylon Rogues were initially Kukus, hundreds of years ago that is. During the Salem Witch Trials, black-pigmented mobians were hunted to near-extinction, as witchcraft was associated with the Black Arms, and the Black Arms are the reason mobians possess the black-pigment genes. Thus, even if one was not outwardly alien, being black (hah) made mobians targets for burnings or ritualistic sacrifice by both humans AND other mobians. They were dubbed Familiars of witches, or demons from the heavens (aka Black Arms) and killed for no other reason. Remember the Corvids? HAH! Yeah, there's a reason most of them are gone, even though the Babylonian-Corvids were initially able to grow their numbers with the birds on Earth/Mobius. Praised universally for their intelligence and superiority among Babylonians, the fall of the Corvids was a hefty tragedy that struck the Kukus horribly. Despite this, most of them did not care and continued to pride themselves on their birdness.

The Rogues however, objected, and believed that the Kukus had lost sight of what was important to them as Babylonians. Cooperating with humans? Becoming bird supremacists? Establishing a militaristic, ascetic regime that limits their power to the planet they're stuck on, claiming to only rule the skies and all below it? NAH. The Rogues care more about returning to the stars, and innovating their technology. Kukus pride themselves on their physical birdness which allows them to fly, but the Rogues care more about using their intellect and innovative skills present in their technological advancements. Speedy (the Kuku) even notes in the comics that extreme gear is outdated, and most original Armada content has little to do with the boards themselves. The Rogues however, are defined by their technological feats, which is technically closer to what the original Babylonians valued.

This generational disdain for Earth/Mobius and its people has led to some… moral corruption amidst the Rogues. While Babylonians were originally travelling across galaxies with good (albeit still arrogant) intentions on their quest of technological advancement, the Rogues are more thrifty to say the least. When non-Babylonians succeed at innovation, the Rogues believe that they just got lucky and accidentally attained genius, and make it their mission to steal the good parts from others and "make better use of this technology" after thrifting it. Other times, Rogues claim that other moments of genius were stolen from Babylonian technology, and thus, by stealing back any advancements made on Earth/Mobius, they are "reclaiming the culture stolen from them" or whatever. This is far more condescending and malicious than the initial Babylonians, which the Kukus dismiss as hedonism.

They're not WRONG, dare I said both sides are partially correct? Even so, the Rogues rebelled from their Armada and continued on their quest to find the best treasures and technological advancements on Earth/Mobius, stealing them for personal usage to hopefully fuel their ambition to reach the stars and find Babylon once more.

Before we move on, I should probably relate this back to wings with a fun fact. The Babylon Rogues CAN grow forearm wings, it's not that rare of a trait as we established. However, in order to distance themselves from the Kukus and reject their birdness, they tattoo their forearms: this floods the feather follicles with ink, preventing wing growth. The Rogues literally and symbolically choose their hands (INNOVATION, TANGIBILITY, INVENTION: to reach towards the sky… and to steal with) over their wings that honestly don't even work well enough to be effective. If they want to fly, they will use technology as the Babylonians once did, hence their reliance on and pride in Extreme Gear.

The EX Grand Prix was originally a community-based initiative for Rogues to show off their advancements and push the limits of Extreme Gear Mechanics to see who was getting closer for finding a way home, but the thrill of sports deterred them and now there are too many board restrictions (cough and shitty air-tank-exclusive shells mass produced by non Babylonians such as MeteoTech) to make this actually useful. Oh, and there are not enough mechanics to sustain the educational value of the Prix, which sucks. Sorry Wave!

Finally, if it wasn't already clear, the Babylon Rogues value what percentage of Babylonian DNA you have over your physical traits. They aren't inbred, but there's a reason we only have 3 remaining Babylon Rogues…

AFTERMATH

This is more of a "small things I missed" section because if you managed to read this far, I doubt you want MORE incoherent rambling. I'm tired, you're tired, we all just wanted to know where the wings went. BUT, since we're already invested I'm going to perform a lightning-round and give some concise wrap-ups for some of the loose ends I created!

4.1 Legal Rights

Members of the Battle Bird Armada were given equal rights to humans ever since they were instated to the government on a worldwide level. Almost every country endorses the Kukus; they are government funded and given full control of the skies so long as they keep mobians "in check" and work in tandem with GUN. You might be wondering why I choose to make them part of the human government when they're supposed to be aligned with Eggman, to which I point out that Eggman is ALSO in kahoots with the human government. When Eggman took over during Forces, human cities were spared from destruction so long as they were being compliant.

It is heavily implied if not indirectly confirmed that Eggman makes all the weapons and machinery for GUN, and the reason he has an infinite amount of resources for all his projects is because he is given permission from the human governments to do whatever the fuck he wants. "Oh but why does Sonic have to defend the humans from Eggman?" It's all about how Eggman and GUN can help one another under the table. Money. The answer is money and political corruption. The Kukus and Eggman can be allies or enemies, no one gives a fuck, they're both protected by government funds anyways.

The Babylon Rogues, as they are not assimilated mobians OR Kukus, are thus not registered citizens. This is why they can commit crimes and remain immune to genuine repercussions including imprisonment, but it is also why we do not know how many of them still exist. Jet, Storm, and Wave are presumably the last 3, but we have no way of confirming this since it's not like they exist in any databases within mobian or human censuses, or services such as healthcare or residency. They have so much money that it does not even matter, but as free as they are, it kinda sucks that they are not protected by the law either.

4.2 Present Day Relations (Very Concise)

No one knows about the Rogues, so who cares!

Humans love the Kukus... usually. Don't look into the cannibalism.

The Rogues despise the Kukus and will never cooperate with them.

The Kukus despite the Rogues, but believe that some of them are of use to the Armada. Lazy, incompetent, and inferior Rogues are hunted for the kill, but someone like Wave who is very Babylonian (genetically), has a Corvid father (in my lore), and is a mechamechanical genius unheard of and unchallenged… they really want someone like her. After they lost Tekno there was a horrendous void to fill, so while they will patronize the Rogues, they think that some of them can be "fixed" for a greater purpose.

Mobians don't typically like either faction as both dogmas are too extreme (read as: rooted in eugenics)

4.3 Predator Hawk

This pertains to my lore specifically, so feel free to skip it. Ehem:

MY Predator Hawk had back-wings. Emphasis on HAD. Remember how the Battlelord threatened to clip his wings off in the comics? Well, due to a black market intervention, a certain someone used the Battlelord's anger towards Pred to convince him that the Battlelord demanded his wings be removed for failing his mission to recruit and/or kill the three remaining Babylon Rogues: a final mission given to him after he attacked Speedy as a last chance to redeem himself. In reality the Battlelord did NOT actually request this to happen and actually has no idea where Predator Hawk disappeared to, but it remains the case that his wings were twisted off of him with a wrench (I swear it wasn't Wave's) and sold on the black market. He still has the large gashes on his back that are semi hollow, as the base of the wing-bones were merely cut off, not fully extracted as that would rip his spine. Rather, the base bones lay flush inside the crevices of his back, and if he were to tense, the nubs of the bones pop out by about 7 inches. The skin healed around the bones so there's no blood, he just has permanently exposed bones.

Pred obviously can't fly anymore, but I felt like it would be really stupid if I were to come up with all this lore for Babylonian wings only to NOT have any avian characters who possess back-wings. So… I retconned Predator a little bit and made him a fucked up creature with trauma! I have a lot of other rants about Predator Hawk pertaining to my canon, but I honestly need to stop typing this, so if anyone wants more... it is on a requested basis.

FINAL THOUGHTS

I'm sure I had some final thoughts when I started this, and it was not meant to be NEARLY this long of a response. While I feel like I didn't directly answer your question, hopefully there's some catharsis dispersed in everything I rambled about here. In summary though, I do NOT give the Rogues wings because the Curse of Babylon (ehem, recessive back-wings) makes it nearly impossible for Babylonians of the modern day to have wings. If they did have wings, they would be from forearm feathers: lots of birds in the Armada have these. Due to dogmatic differences and a convoluted history of identity-based conflicts though, the Rogues tattoo away the possibility of hybrid arms in the pursuit for technologically-based flight. The exception is Predator Hawk, who HAD wings, but then had them removed against his will. He is still bitter about it.

Did anyone make it this far? If so, you're a fucking FREAK, and I encourage you to send me more asks, because I could ramble forever about Sonic lore. It does not have to be related to the Babylon Rogues, you can ask me anything, but do take into account that I am clearly a bit obsessive and might take some time to answer. But when I do… it will be a shitshow like this response was. You read to this point though, so clearly you're into it. ENABLE ME! Love ya <3

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

A Tale of Love, Death and Maggots, part 18-G

Parts 1-15, 16-G, 17-G

And that was how we ended up standing back in the altar-hall of the cultists, Mrin and I, our hearts pounding with fear. Mrin's sabre was unsheathed, and she held it in a low guard.

Sure, the hall was empty. Sure, the cultists were gone. Sure, we were in no danger. But that was about to change, and fast. “How much longer have we got?”

She shrugged. “Five minutes, max? We'll hear the first of her soon, if at all.”

Our plan, insofar as it went without reaching the ‘pray the power of love saves us' stage, was simple. Leave a trail of blood from our hidey hole to here and hope Not-Athena would follow.

The blood we'd gotten from a wide, shallow cut on my wrist. Only one person's blood could be used, lest Not-Athena catch wind of our plan. For all of Mrin's knowledge, she didn't know just how smart that thing was, and I didn't want to find out.

It wasn't five minutes when she found us. It wasn't even one. Just as I opened my mouth to respond, a vast shadow coalesced from the ceiling.

“My, my. Two measly mortals. Beckoning me, are you?” Her voice came from all around us, layered repetitions of our Athena's voice circling like vultures. “Something you need, dearies? Perhaps you'd like to join your little friend in feeding me?” The sugary glee in her voice made my bile rise.

“I- No,” I said, feeling my voice crack. “We're here to make you give us back our friend. Whether you like it or not.” 

God, what was I doing? How dumb was I? This was a suicide mission. In a moment, I was going to be ripped to shreds and sliding down the gullet of a thousand worms.

Speaking of them, the worms of Not-Athena began sculpting themselves into her form. Save for the size and composition of her body, she might well have been the girl I knew. “And how do you think you'll do that, little man?”

Without waiting for an answer, she continued. “I know what you are, mortal. You're a coward. A worthless, snivelling little coward. And your girlfriend is no better. She is made of bloodthirst and ambition. Unworthy, all of you. Foul. Tainted.” The mass chittered with laughter. “How fortunate you are that I like taint.”

Mrin raised her blade and pointed it right at Not-Athena. “We don't care for your pretty words. Give us back the kids. Now.”

“Or else?” Not-Athena tilted her head to a side. “Will you raise your hand against me in futility? Will you sacrifice yourself in a grand gesture of hopelessness? Will you die for those two snot-nosed brats?”

She shook her head. “I'll do you one better than that. I'll live for them. I'll live and worry and fret and accept that I'm never going home for them. I'll stay for them, for the ones I love.”

“Is love something you'd understand? I don't think so. For all your power and all your greatness, you'll never truly know love. It is what makes leaf litter into a sapling, what spins death back into life, what makes your precious rot into something beautiful. Love will turn the worst of hell into home, love will turn these lights into a blazing sun, and love will turn you back into our Athena.”

Taglist: @coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn, @ramwritblr

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west, @differentnighttale

@evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms, @xenascribbles

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @paeliae-occasionally, @an-indecisive-nerd, @thecomfywriter

@seastarblue, @wyked-ao3

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

Performance

Performing was an art. One that requires passion and ambition. To truly give your audience a great show, you must be willing to offer your soul. For a stiff character has no place amoung the stories you wish to tell.

Something was wrong. Class 1-C was having difficulty and needed more time to prepare. They had worked very hard, and you knew that they didn't deserve to get a bad score for the props taking longer to set up.

You quickly whisper into Dali-Sans ear before he can announce them. "They need more time something went wrong." He nodded and flashed a smile to the audience. "We're in for a special treat, it seems, this year! Our own staff will be giving a small performance as well this year!"

You frowned. What in hell was he thinking? "My lovely friend here will be entertaining you for a short while as we help set up for the next act!" He handed you the mic and rushed off. Oh, you were going to kill him later for this.

But not before you got your own fun out of it. "Kalego-San, didn't you promise to assist me?" You smiled as Poro-Chan gasped. You knew he couldn't resist a show with Kalego in it. It guaranteed his distraction.

Kalego narrowed his eyes as he was set down and placed before the stage. Before he could say anything negative or deny, you started. "Oh foolish man of whom pride lays claim to, your arrogance may be your very undoing."

Pointing a finger at his accusingly as you watched him now make his way on stage storming up to you. "How time hath changed you. For you are not the one that I knew so long ago." You sighed.

He glared at you before speaking his voice carrying without assistance. "You are also not the one I so fondly remember or have you forgotten? You whose soul is now filled with envy." His smug smirk rising as a challenge.

Fine then. You tossed the mic backstage, knowing someone had caught it. "Fondly, he says." You scoffed mockingly. Both of you started circling each other in intimidating manors.

"When have you ever thought fondly of me?" He advanced forward, and you let him grasp your chin. "There are many things I do it seems that escape your notice." He pretended to examine you before letting go.

"How dare you! If I do not notice, it is because you neither show nor say anything!" You hissed, turning your back to him.

"Must I say anything? Must I show you? Why must I constantly remind you of such?" He questioned as he leaned over your shoulder seductively. "I pity the soul who lives with your affections." You brushed him away and moved back to your original starting point.

"Do you not wish a life with me?" He asked rather softly. You paused, glancing back. "Do not be foolish." You stated firmly. "Time and time again I have remained by your side have I not? Or has your swelling ego allowed you to forget?"

Crossing your arms, you turned away again. He laughed bitterly. "And you claim to pity any soul stuck with me. I'd hate to see the sap trapped in what you call love." You winced clutching your heart.

"Do not speak to me of such things!" You snapped, spinning to face him. "My love is as vast and as endless as the sea. My love amounts more than the stars in the heavens! My love shall remain eternal through summer, winter, spring, and fall!"

You glared at him, eye to eye chest to chest. "How could you of whom I care for so much not know?" You asked. Waiting for a response. He did not answer. Instead, he turned his head away from you.

"Then maybe we did not know each other at all." You stepped back and turned to leave. You felt him grasp your wrist. "I know that you drive me insane." His voice is calm yet held a depth you couldn't understand.

"I know each day I wake up and start worrying about all the trouble you will cause me." You continued to stare ahead, not looking back. "I know that you love so fiercely that time seems to halt just so that you can produce more of your inane affections."

You peered back at him. Somehow, you knew that the two of you weren't playing anymore. "You say that as if you love me." The room was quiet. As if you were the only two inside.

"I- I love you so much that words could not describe and actions can not convey how I feel to you." He swallowed, looking at you painfully. Embarrassment crossing his features.

You turned to fully face him now. "You are arrogant and cocksure." You said, and he winced, releasing his hold on you. You took the chance to grab his tie and pull him closer.

"You hate showing weakness, so you pretend to not care because you were taught that caring is weakness." Now you were nose to nose. You could see the fear and hope clashing in his eyes.

"Someone so prideful yet secretly kind as you. You should not have given your love to someone as greedy as me." You leaned in and brushed your lips together briefly. Pulling back, you smiled. "I plan on keeping your love all for myself."

Kalego only stared at you in silent shock. For a moment, you thought you went too far. Maybe you had misunderstood or read the signals wrong.

"If you're going to love me, love me properly." He scolded. You blinked. What did he mean by that? He grasped you close and pressed his lips hungrily to your own. Oh! Oh, he meant that.

You sigh, relaxing into his hold. Both of you were startled by the loud cheers and applause from the audience. Kalego swore under his breath before dragging you backstage to hide his embarrassed face in your shoulder.

[josefavomjaaga]

Ida meets Ney in Russia

I dimly remember that somebody (Cadmus?) mentioned they wanted to read more from Ida. So here’s a brief snippet of Ida – for once – getting in trouble with her hero, of Ney scolding her and … being jealous of Eugène?

The meeting takes place somewhen in late 1812 or early 1813, as much as it’s possible to tell from Ida’s chronological rollercoaster ride. In any case, after or at the end of the Russian retreat. Because of course Ida had joined the Russian campaign as well.

And not only she. If any tumblerinas here plan on learning how to time travel and want to go back to see the Grande Armée march towards Moscow, they don’t need to worry about incognitos. Most likely they would barely be noticed, as apparently there were wagonloads of groupies following their heroes around.

Okay: four. But that’s only those ladies Ida travelled with. Plus, two of them died on the way back.

Ida was particularly fond of a Polish-Lithuanian girl named Nidia, as madly in love with general Montbrun as Ida was in love with Ney. Not that either of the two got to see their idol much during the march. As a matter of fact, the first thing Nidia learned before entering Moscow was that Montbrun had been killed at the battle of Borodino. Other than that, Ida claims to have had a bad feeling about this city from the start:

As we entered Moscow, occupied at last by our troops, this immense city seemed to us like a vast tomb; its empty streets, deserted buildings and solemnity of destruction were heartbreaking. Despite the pomp of victory, I felt struck by I don't know what new kind of melancholy when I saw it; the flags seemed to me gloomy and almost surrounded by funeral crêpes and black forebodings. We were staying in Rue Saint-Pétersbourg, near the Miomonoff palace, which was soon occupied by Prince Eugène. The sight of this young hero and the cheers of the soldiers, who adored him, gave us back all the illusions of victory.

Okay, so I just added this because it’s so rare to see Eugène receive some praise. (I should also mention that the adored young hero was growing bald at an alarming rate and that his bad teeth were killing him.)

As a matter of fact, Ida claims that Nidia was especially interested in Eugène because he was rumoured to maybe become king of Poland (yes, another candidate). These rumours did really exist, Eugène mentions them in a letter to his wife before the campaign started. (And he also makes it pretty clear that these are just rumours and that he has not the slightest ambition to stay in this country. He may have used different vocabulary than Lannes but he didn’t like the region any better.)

The following night, Ida and Nidia wake up to a burning Moscow and are saved by soldiers of 4th corps. On the retreat, they seem to have followed headquarters as closely as possible, which was their safest bet to stay alive (because where the emperor is, there’s food and firewood and a resemblance of order) but still witness horrible tragedies. After the crossing of the Berezina, they apparently followed the remnants of Eugène’s 4th corps to Marienwerder, before Nidia says goodbye and goes back to defending Poland.

But before, on the way, at Valutina (?), Ida finally sees Ney again

At this point, after the retreat, Ida at least starts to question her decision to follow the Grande Armée around. Or something like that.

I have just recounted my fatigue, my difficulties and my perils in a war beyond human endurance, because of the new aspects it seemed to give to destruction and death. A powerful feeling made me undertake everything and endure everything. Why was I going to face the hazards of a campaign? Why was I going to expose the weakness of a woman to the rigours of a climate of iron? In order to obtain yet another glance from the one whose smile had always paid me for my military errands. This look was always like a world offered to my hopes; the dream alone of this reward had made possible all the impossibilities of time, distance, sex and fortune. My life was thus burnt for a few hours, still uncertain. I was giving up everything for a moment in space. Alas! this time, how I was going to regret this moment that had cost me so much to conquer! I had just gambled my existence for a flash of happiness, and this flash, the quickest of my life, became the cruelest.

I had to spend three fatal hours in a miserable shack on the outskirts of Volutina. My dress was so horrible that it was a real disguise. In a person dressed like that, one could hardly suspect a woman. Ney, however, only had to look my way to recognise me. To have been seen was enough to have been discovered. I was about to rush to the front of this first happiness; I was about to testify to the soul of my life how proud I was of this divination of friendship, of this perspicacity of memory, when words of an energy which was far from that of the feeling of which I was possessed, intimated to me the order of the most positive dismissal: "What are you doing here? What do you want? Go away quickly." With this address and a few short, curt rebukes about my reckless rage and my fury at following him everywhere, I only had the strength to reply: "It is a rage, indeed, but it is not at least the rage of pleasure or vanity," pointing to my coarse clothes and my face burnt by the sun and faded by fatigue. He took no notice of either the harangue or the costume. He was off and running. His displeasure at seeing me there was so great; he let it out so vividly that I thought he was going to push me back to the opposite bank of the Dniéper in his anger. Stunned by the reception, struck by lightning, I remained motionless for more than an hour, staring at him, thinking I saw him; he had disappeared without paying any more attention to me or worrying about me.

From which we can deduct that Ney was not a reader of Jane Austen novels. Otherwise he would have known that whenever you have behaved in a way that made a woman fall in love with you that’s f-ing your fault, monsieur!

In 1813, when I recalled to Marshal Ney this scene of such violent fury, followed by such cruel silence and abandonment, he told me that he had been so mortally frightened by the extravagance which had pushed me into the midst of so many perils and the licentiousness of an army, that he had even been tempted to beat me. Truth requires me to admit that the temptation had been so strong that he had, I believe, yielded to it a little; it was without his knowing it, for the great passions know neither all they want nor all they do. Anger is therefore still love, since it is as blind as fury.

Girl, get help. Seriously.

When we crossed the Dniéper at Serokodia, I could have had another word with him. A new laurel had just hidden his wrongs and healed my wound. I could have, I wanted to say to him: You have just added to your immortal glory here; you alone have just saved Frenchmen lost in deserts of ice; I would have liked to express to him what all parties repeat today, what posterity will proclaim on the ashes of the brave... But I stuck to the joy of hearing the distant cheers. There was then a little fear in my delirium for him, and I almost have the idea that I idolised him even more by fearing him in that way…

Did I mention the thing about getting help?

Yes, even the reproach was appreciated by my heart, and still seemed to me a tender interest. I found I don't know what pleasure in hearing myself scolded later for my association with Nidia, my marches and counter-marches with the Viceroy's troops. No matter how many times I told the Marshal that Eugène's protection had been focused exclusively on the young Lithuanian girl, and that I had slipped unnoticed into this benevolence, he took it into his head to believe nothing of these sincere protestations. To make him reconsider such a strongly conceived idea would have meant exposing myself to a repeat of the Dniéper order and military correction. I had no intention of trying the same pleasure twice. Finally, he saw the evidence of my attachment, and he found the generosity to prove this belated but strong conviction to me [...]

By calling her his brother-in-arms, by the way. And this, I believe, really meant a lot to Ida.

[pollyaunt]

My thoughts on HOFAS

-> First and foremost, only SJM can make me violently react towards books even though it's been years since I've started reading and got into the Maasverse.

-> Ch 99 broke me. Literally. I was downright bawling so hard to the point I couldnt breathe especially with the Danika, Lele and Pack of Devils scene. And ofc, Jesiba. I love you sm.

-> Bryce is an absolute badass and I would agree that her and Hunt's relationship wasnt portrayed the best in this book in comparison to the first, but well, the first also focused on the Kristallos as the danger whereas in this book they were the allies. Suffice to say, the degree of change was ought to happen and supposed to be vast. I'm nonetheless very much happy with how both of them turned out to be in the end.

-> Lidia. She's more Aelin than Aelin herself. In this house, we absolutely ADORE LIDIA CERVOS. And her sons and ofc Ruhn. They carried the book most definitely.

-> The ACOTAR x CC crossover was done immaculately and Maas so not deserves the disappointment shes receiving over it especially because be for fuckin real, it had to be more about CC than ACOTAR itself. And I'm honestly very happy with how she portrayed those scenes while remaining true to the characters (besides the bonus chapter which was kinda meh)

-> Tharion Ketos most certainly made decisions that were not the best but dude, you've got to recognise that he was the most selfless one in the entire book all the while trying to keep himself alive. His determination and ambition were honourable. And ps: I havent forgotten how open ended his story has been left especially with Sathia gone abruptly (whom I LOVED) and I think it's kinda pointing at how he and Ithan might get their own novella or book after the next ACOTAR.

-> Last but not the least, Ithan. That dude was trying to the best always yall and lets be honest without him, I highly doubt they'd been able to 1. Get out of the Viper Queen's lair. 2. Been able to defeat the Asteri without that bullet. And they way Maas has left his story along with Ketos' incomplete for now has surely not escaped my notice. After all, we still gotta know what happened to Sigrid really and Sathia 👀

In conclusion, the two things that felt off to me throughout the book was:

-> Firstly, how the Quinlar relationship was written in certain scenes but also, to an extent I also sympathized with both of them given the extent of trauma both of them had been through. It was understandable but comforting myself with the thought that once stuff on Midgard got better, both of them must've discussed it at length cuz, that's what our Quinlar is really. So, I'm not that unhappy with their portrayal and love them equally.

-> Secondly, this one has bugged me a lot in the series: the wasted potential that was Fury Axtar. She could've been SUCH a vital asset to them and all over, one of the most badass character. But instead of explaining and exploring her, SJM made quite a mistake by off writing her mostly from the books. That could've been done better.

[synintheraven]

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary: the journey to Tamworth/Mercia begins, Sihtric and reader explore the land as he becomes slightly more approachable.

✵tw: mentions of violence/kills, nothing really :p

✵word count: 1,3k

characters info | part one | part two

We left at first light, riding slowly as we followed the river and the sun emerged from the sea. The green, muddy waters of East Anglia glimmered with the weak light of the morning and the wind brushed the reeds growing in our way, promising a bright day.

But we were soon to leave East Anglia and cross into Mercian territory. Where the small islands covered by the changing tide would be replaced by lush hills and large farm lands; for Grantebridge’s territory was vast and covered by orange-coloured trees, with a handful of churches and poorly fortified villages scattered throughout its higher ground.

—Right there, where the hills are greener, that’s Mercia. —He explained, riding by my side as he pointed his finger towards the Monastery’s tower, hiding behind trees in the far distance. —And we’re to cross it to its northern border, to the Ragnarsson’s camp in Tamworth.

I sensed Sihtric’s mood was different that autumnal morning. Seeing as the fresh wind blew on his face and swept the fur cape over his shoulders, making sure to keep pace with my horse as he stayed close to me. —Have you been there before? —I asked.

—We sailed to Mercia when we heard Danes were attacking King Burgred’s fortress, but we didn’t stay long enough to participate in their war. —He explained with a frown, probably remembering that journey.

—Why not? —I said as his eyes searched for mine, puzzled. —You could’ve taken a lot of plunder from a Mercian King.

—It wasn’t our fight. —He took a deep breath then let out a sigh. —We came here to escape Harald’s ambition and Halfdan’s pointless appetite for war, not to terrorize Saxon kings.

—What are you fighting for then, Dane? —I emphasised the word Dane, aware of how unlikely it was for a Dane to follow Norse lords blindly.

Sihtric took a few moments to answer, watching the heron birds resting along the river’s edge and the smoke filling the sky over the nearby villages, his hands holding the reins tightly as the sun reflected on his silver rings. —I’m fighting for Yggr, and for a spot of land where we can make our own lives. —He said with a hint of doubt in his calming voice, thoughtful.

—So, are you really going to follow Yggr as your Jarl forevermore? Or are you to set sail to unclaimed lands and become a Lord yourself?

—I will follow him, —He paused to look at me again, ever proud of his own words. —but should the Nornir decide I am to be a Lord, then so it will be. 

We had reached a crumbling round tower, surrounded by dried trees and yellow grass. Yet it wasn’t the work of Roman giants, its muddy bricks suggesting the damp weather and time had destroyed the structure way before the Romans arrived.

The fog seemed to have lifted from our position, revealing distant cottages and the small church among reeds that sat on Mercian land. It was a reminder that we had quite a long way to go still, but in two days’ time we would reach Tamworth and join the brothers.

Our mission was to gain their trust and discover their plans for Britain, as we hoped to ensure they would leave East Anglia at peace for Yggr’s small clan; though as long as Wessex riches remained clear of Danes, the Great Army would stay away from our camp.

I watched the old stone bridge crossing the river, the ravens circling above the remains of a burnt farm. Complete disaster taking over the land all the way to the west, to Alfred’s Kingdom. Imagining the green hills, ancient roman walls and clean docks, without a single Danish longship navigating its waters.   

And so I let out a sigh, aware that we would be forced to march against Wessex if we were to convince the sons of Ragnar of our shared ambition.

—What’s on your mind, Stavanger? —Sihtric interrupted, suddenly catching my attention as we crossed the river.

—Wessex. —I lied, still hoping to find the man who killed my family, feeling as if a hole carved itself through my chest as we spoke. —I heard its churches are full of gold and silver, yet no Dane has ever made it close enough to prove it.

—He’s the King, —he added with a smirk, looking away for a moment. —and he’s managed to keep our kin out of his land. You can’t do that without silver, and certainly can’t raise an army with nothing but empty words about Gods. —The tone in his voice had turned deeper as he explained, sensing the worry in his words.

—Have you killed many Saxons?

—Some, —he paused, probably feeling the unease in my voice as well. —but only when it was necessary.

It was the way of our people: to kill for food, shelter, livelihood and our families. But the Saxons saw a group of evil creatures killing anything and everything standing before them, ignoring that some of us weren’t after a hard, wooden throne.

Some of us were fleeing a mad king and others, like me, were only seeking the end of an old story, knowing no other feeling than that of resentment and vengeance.

We had reached a thin muddy road, following the way of the hill in between bushes and dried grass.

The land around us was deserted, with no more than a bunch of trees leading towards Theotford and a few foxes wandering around the yellowish hill. At the highest point, half covered by the fog, lay a marvellous stone structure. But, no longer beside the river, the view from higher ground revealed a long abandoned ruin, another one of the Roman’s great work.

Torn walls, broken columns and muddy tiles with curious patterns; a place once full with life, but now was home to old vases, smudged paintings on the walls and sculptures of Goddesses.

Yet despite the weather’s destruction, the place remained of magnificent beauty and calm, so we allowed the horses to rest as we explored the area.

It surprised me to realize no one had turned such a place into their home, seeing as the curved roof, made of bricks and stone, still protected one of the buildings against the weather.

—I’ve been here before. —Sihtric added as his eyes were fixated on one of the marble sculptures, running his fingers over the cold skin of its stone legs. —Yggr wanted to turn this place into our camp, but the river is quite far from here and we didn’t want to leave some of our crew behind to guard the ship.

—I’m sure you men would’ve enjoyed all these naked women painted on the walls, though many would’ve been easily distracted by them also. —I teased with a smile, making it obvious that I was talking about him too.

—I prefer women of flesh over these stone ladies. —He explained awkwardly, unable to hide his smile while he looked at me. —Yggr couldn’t keep his hands off one of the tall angels near the entrance, said he regretted it wasn’t a real woman. —he raised an eyebrow as he beckoned towards the tall arch, which I guessed was the entrance of the Roman ruin.

—Angels? —I asked intrigued, though in truth I was trying not to let out a laugh, his curved lips giving away that our Jarl probably wasn’t the only one touching the poor statue.

—They have wings like birds and the Christians think they’re holy creatures, apparently. —He explained dismissively.

—So you and Yggr desecrated their divine creature, then.

—No, I didn’t! —He chuckled with a fake frown, taking distance from the statue before us. —I accidentally broke one of its fingers, but Yggr did the inappropriate touching.

—I hope you remain very appropriate with me, then. —I teased jokingly, watching as his broad smile turned into a smirk and his face turned red.

Bonus facts (again)

Grantebridge/scire: modern Cambridge, both Sihtric and reader have to ride through most of the shire to cross into Oxenefordscire (modern Oxford) and later into Ledecestrescire (modern Leicester), where Tamworth is.

[gubbles-owo]

okay fuckit, gather 'round: it's gubbles' storytime. girl's band cry hyperfixation be damned, it's bringing up so many Things in my heart. i say i've never performed live onstage, but that's not entirely true. while a far shot from actually taking part in a band and playing a show, allow me to tell you the tale of the closest I ever got to that: a random session at jamspace, pax east, 2016.

.......... senior year of college, i was brought onboard with another group of students who had not only completed a game demo for a class project, but wanted to take it further. a lil VR game, simple in concept and clean in execution, i was invited to do music and audio for it. (i was, of course, the sole game audio/music-focused student on campus, as my school's gamedev program didn't really have a dedicated audio designer track). ultimately it fizzled out and not much came of it, but for a good chunk of time it was everything. our future ambitions, something to carry us forth from graduation on into the industry, to cement our own little foothold in the vast world of game development. we took the train to boston so many times, showed off our game at SO MANY local events, hell i had never known how to navigate a complex subway system, and here we were sifting through every few weeks or so. it was a wild fucking time, and honestly? i wish i could experience it again. something about the weaving of fantastical future prospects with the tangible, corporeal experience of it all. once foreign subway systems, sprawling in a subterranean web of concrete and metal, the sidewalks of city streets lit by the glow of the city, now strangely familiar in such a short span of time... *ahem* right, where was i... right, pax east. our school provided a limited number of booths for teams to show off their projects at pax east, and being one of the big promising projects stirring up on campus, we were granted a spot. (actually i had TWO spots because two separate projects/teams i took part in got accepted, so i had to pull double duty for a lot of it LMFAO). i've been to pax before, but as a fan and attendee, not as a developer. so this was an entirely new experience... ...and that experience was having the booth you sit at all day right next to the massive league of legends (ew) stage!! they blasted music constantly! half of it was just percussion loops from Heavyocity's Damage, and i know because I RECOGNIZED THOSE PERCUSSION SOUNDS and even USED SOME OF THEM IN THE PROJECT I WAS WORKING ON. see, the convention floor is loud. like. incredibly fucking loud. it's one thing if you're walking around as a fan, you've got other talks in siderooms to go to, and you can always step out and get some fresh air if you're feeling overwhelmed. but ya can't do that when you're on shift to demo your game to con attendees for the next several hours, can ya? :3c so yeah, long story short, i got sick. real fuckin sick. i had to YELL over the din of the convention the entire time, and after just one day, i had already lost my voice. and i mean COMPLETELY LOST MY VOICE. i could not speak, only painfully croak. i had to resort to crude hand gestures and typing shit on my phone to communicate. it was rooouughhh. and after bringing this up with my teammates, they agreed to cover my shifts, and let me rest. because the con was so fucking loud, and i was still stuck there sick all day, i informed my team that i would be headed to the jamspace room to pick up earplugs. and by "earplugs" i mean. haha well. lets justr say. a bass guitar. (srry for screenshot but tumblr hated this paragraph for some reason and kept blocking the post):

i was sick as fuck, and for sake of my health, should probably not have pushed myself. HOWEVER. i would NOT i repeat *NOT* let this sole opportunity to slip me by... i've always wanted to perform with other musicians, so fuck it, i am doing this. so the next twelve minutes i shuffled my sickly ass alll the way around to the room at the very end of the hall. i had taken note of the open-stage timeslots the day prior. i had one hour to do this shit. one hour to make the dream come true. i cannot describe the nervousness i felt going into that whole thing. i lied to my teammates. i couldn't speak. a dark room with a little clipboard to fill out a timeslot and instrument, and an empty, brightly lit stage on the other side of it. but i shuffled stage right, strapped on this bass, and asked for a pick (because im a fake bassist). and. holy shit.

i had no voice, but with that bass strapped to me? i could make the entire room *shake*. and words cannot describe how utterly fucking powerful that felt.

a few other randos took up the other instruments. i don't remember much about them, only that they intimidated the HELL out of me. i had done like concert band in high school, i've jammed on instruments in my room, but this? this is something entirely different. we played through a couple tracks... they kept suggesting "hey how about x song from y band?" but my stupid-ass doesn't have a degree in classic rock like everyone else apparently does, so i shrugged and said i didn't know how to play it. we finally settled on the one song suggested that i was, at least passingly, familiar with... metallica's enter sandman lmfaO the "passingly" there is very important, because while i know the general flow and structure, i wasn't sure about the specifics. when we got to the first pre-chorus, i notice something had shifted, and i was no longer playing the right notes. i must've either sounded terrible or look visibly confused, because the guitarist to my left turned toward me, angled his fretboard to be clearly in view, and taught me how to play the riff while performing it onstage. and i did it!! i picked it up, just like that!! it was just the earlier bit but transposed up a few steps or smth, but god, just. that little moment right there? that quick moment of guidance mid-performance? holy fuck that is magical. the other awesome moment was somewhere in the bridge, like. okay. i could barely hear myself, as the guitars and vocals and cymbals right behind me were all incredibly loud (they didn't have earplugs btw lol). but i wasn't sure i was like, contributing much to the song? and while i admittedly improvised this bit, for the build up into the final chorus, i stopped playing. i let the guitar and the drums have their space. and slowly, quietly, high up on the fretboard, built back up until WHAM, i come back in full force with the chorus. IT WAS SO COOL. LIKE. the mix sounded so weak and thin without me, and the contrast of making the entire fucking room violently vibrate with the flick of my wrist on the downbeat? holy FUCK. IT'S MAGICAL. MAGIC IS REAL Y'ALL AND IT IS ONSTAGE. anyway yeah, played that song, some members swapped out but no one else was signed up for bass, so i stuck on for a lil longer. another guitarist taught me how to play one of the splatoon themes, and while it was fun, the drummer kept us both going on that one riff for a looot longer than we wanted to lmfao fun fact! none of my team knew i did this!! they probably would've been PISSED had they found out!! actually they stole my con pass on the third morning, which made sense cause they had someone else fill in for me at the booth, but none of it was communicated to me and i was piiiiised. wound up navigating the subway and trains back home, all by myself, for the first time. but YEAH it was AMAZING. it wasn't an established band playing a local show, it was just a bunch of randos fucking around. and god. i... i really want to be part of a band someday. i want to feel this again.

even if just for one show, for one song, for one moment... i need to feel the weight of the room underneath my fingertips.