The planet had no official name — just a quiet little rock drifting in a forgotten arm of a minor star system, far from the usual chaos of collapsing empires or Ender tantrums. Its atmosphere was thick but breathable, gravity gentle enough to feel welcoming instead of punishing. Golden savannas rolled under a pale lavender sky, dotted with slow-drifting pollen clouds that shimmered like living auroras. The weather was perfect in that effortless, almost suspicious way the Unstable Universe sometimes allowed: warm breeze, soft sunlight, the distant rumble of thunder that never quite arrived.
Tiger was sprawled on his back in the tall grass near a shallow crystal river, one arm behind his head, the other lazily trailing fingers through the water. He wore mismatched scavenged clothes — a torn flight jacket over a threadbare shirt, boots that had seen better centuries. A half-eaten fruit the size of his fist rested on his chest. He wasn't doing much of anything, which was exactly the point. In a universe where everything came back anyway, doing nothing felt like the ultimate rebellion.
Then the sky cracked.
A white-hot streak tore through the clouds, trailing fire and ionized air. The impact came seconds later — a bone-rattling boom that flattened grass in a perfect circle a kilometer away. Dirt and steam exploded upward in a mushroom-shaped plume. Birds (or whatever passed for birds here) scattered in screaming spirals.
Tiger didn't even sit up. He just sighed, long and theatrical.
"...really?"
The crater smoked for a minute. Then a groan. Then movement.
A figure clawed its way out of the glowing pit. Skin sloughed off in wet sheets, then regrew in fast-forward — pink new flesh knitting over exposed muscle, hair sprouting in uneven tufts. Bones snapped back into place with wet cracks. Within thirty seconds she was whole again: average height, dark hair plastered with soot and river mud, wearing what used to be a sleek jumpsuit now reduced to charred rags. She blinked up at the sky, flexed her fingers, and grinned like someone who'd just won a bet with physics.
She spotted Tiger almost immediately.
Still lying there. Still eating his fruit.
Lily dusted herself off with exaggerated swipes, then sauntered over like she hadn't just pancaked into the planet at terminal velocity.
"You," she called, pointing a finger that still had faint scorch marks, "didn't tell me you had this wonderful planet."
Tiger finally tilted his head to look at her properly. One eyebrow lifted.
"...do I know you?"
"Nope!" She dropped down cross-legged beside him, close enough that her knee bumped his. "But you've got fruit, grass that doesn't try to eat you, and air that smells like actual weather instead of burnt wiring. So I'm claiming acquaintance rights."
Tiger chewed slowly, considering her. "You just fell out of orbit."
"More like got yoinked by your cute little gravity well. One second I'm minding my own business in the void, next second—whoosh—meteor time." She mimed the descent with both hands, complete with explosion sound effects. "Ten out of ten for drama, zero out of ten for landing grace."
He offered her half the fruit without looking. "It's sweet. Kinda tastes like regret, but the good kind."
Lily took it, sniffed, then bit in. Juice ran down her chin. She didn't wipe it.
"Regret's my favorite flavor," she said around the mouthful. "So what's the vibe here? You hiding from an Ender? Waiting for the next cycle to wipe the slate? Or just... vibing?"
Tiger shrugged. "Vibing. Mostly. Last time I tried hiding, Discipline showed up and turned my safehouse into a 90-degree angle prison for 'structural improvement.' Never again."
Lily laughed — loud, unselfconscious, the kind of laugh that echoed across the empty savanna.
"Fair. I once told Freedom he had commitment issues while he was mid-rant about cages. He threw me into a singularity. Took three subjective weeks to claw my way back out. Still mad he didn't at least buy me dinner first."
Tiger snorted. "Romantic."
They sat in companionable silence for a while. The pollen clouds drifted overhead like lazy ghosts. Somewhere far off, a herd of bioluminescent grazers moved in slow motion, their hides flickering like living lanterns.
Lily leaned back on her elbows, staring at the sky.
"So... you gonna share this planet or what? I mean, I already crashed here. Finder's keepers, meteor's droppers."
Tiger glanced sideways at her. "You planning to stay?"
"Until something more interesting falls out of the sky. Or until Love shows up and decides I'm competition for her next fixation. Whichever comes first."
He chuckled under his breath. "Bold of you to assume you're not already on someone's radar."
Lily turned her head, met his eyes. Her grin was all teeth and mischief.
"Oh, I'm counting on it. Keeps things spicy."
Tiger looked back up at the perfect, too-perfect sky.
"Welcome to the neighborhood, then."
She bumped his shoulder with hers.
"Call me Lily."
"Tiger."
They both laughed at the absurdity of names mattering at all.
Lily chewed thoughtfully, juice still running down her chin. She didn't wipe it.
"You know," she said, "most people who live on planets give them names."
"It doesn't have one."
"Right, but you live here. You could just... make one up."
Tiger looked at the sky. "Naming things implies attachment."
"Naming things implies memory." She took another bite. "Big difference. You can name something you don't care about. I once named a black hole Gerald."
Tiger blinked. "Gerald."
"He was very Gerald-shaped. Round. Slightly threatening. Kept pulling things in without apologizing." She gestured vaguely. "He didn't care that I named him. Still ate my ship."
"You named the black hole that ate your ship."
"After the fact, yes. It helped." She pointed the fruit at him. "See, that's the difference between us. You'd just float in the event horizon going 'well, this is happening.' I'd be naming the gravitational anomalies on the way down."
Tiger considered this. "I did name the plasma storm."
Lily perked up. "Oh?"
"Steve."
She stared at him.
"It felt like a Steve."
She burst out laughing — loud,
unselfconscious, the kind that echoed across an empty savanna. A bioluminescent grazer in the distance flickered in what might have been alarm.
"Okay," she said when she'd recovered, wiping her eye with the back of a soot-stained hand. "You get partial credit. What happened to Steve?"
"Surfed him. Died. You know how it goes."
"Classic Steve behavior." She nodded sagely. "They always betray you."
Pollen drifted between them. Somewhere upstream, something splashed.
Lily turned the remaining fruit over in her hands. "So how long have you actually been here? Not 'a while.' Not 'some time.' I want a number."
"Four months. Give or take a local rotation."
"Doing what?"
"This." He gestured at the grass, the river, the sky.
"Just... lying here."
"Lying. Sitting. Occasionally walking upstream. There's a waterfall about three kilometers that way." He pointed without looking. "Nice rocks."
Lily stared at him. "You've been on a paradise planet for four months and the highlight is nice rocks."
"They're very nice rocks."
"I crashed here twenty minutes ago and I've already found fruit, a river, and you. You've had four months."
"I wasn't looking."
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "You know what, I respect that so much it physically hurts me."
Tiger almost smiled. Almost.
"Where were you before this?" she asked, more casually, leaning back on one hand.
"Around." A pause. "Station in the Verent Belt for a while. Before that, a colony ship." He scratched the back of his neck. "Before that — a research outpost. Atmospheric anomalies."
Something in his voice flattened.
Lily glanced sideways but didn't pull the thread.
"Atmospheric anomalies," she repeated lightly.
"Mm."
"Riveting."
"Briefly." He plucked a blade of grass. "Then it wasn't."
She let it sit there.
Then: "I was in a trading collective for a while. Six of us. Ship called The Persistent Mistake."
"Accurate name."
"We voted on everything. Everything. Routes, cargo, dinner." She shook her head. "You know how long it takes six immortals to agree on dinner?"
"How long?"
"Eleven days. We nearly went to war over whether synthesized noodles counted as noodles philosophically."
Tiger stared. "Do they?"
"We never decided. Mira threw them out the airlock on day twelve to end the debate. We didn't speak for a month." She paused, staring at the river. "I still think about those noodles."
"Were they good?"
"I have no idea. We never got to eat them." She looked at the horizon. "That's the tragedy."
Tiger was quiet a moment. Then, with complete sincerity: "That might be the saddest thing I've ever heard."
"Right?" She pointed at him. "And I've cried inside a singularity. So that's saying something."