Around evening, I was sitting on the couch.
Mochi was on my lap. Purring. Judging, as always. His yellow eyes were half-closed, but I knew he was cataloguing every movement.
Angy was in the kitchen, making sounds that suggested she was either cooking something ambitious or fighting a small grease fire. Probably both.
The smell drifting into the living room was actually good, which meant Shenhe had intervened at some point.
Shenhe herself was in the armchair near the window. Reading. Or pretending to read. Same book as always, same page as always, same silent watchfulness as always.
Her blue eyes moved across the text with mechanical regularity, but I'd learned—after seventeen years—that the page hadn't turned in over an hour.
Normal evening.
Normal house.
Normal life.
But my mind wasn't here.
It was somewhere else. In a field. With endless grass and some moons and infinite stars and a girl in white who'd said she'd be there.
"Then I'll be here."
Those words. Still echoing. Still pressing against the inside of my skull like they belonged there.
She said she'd be there. Today. Same time? I didn't ask. I didn't specify. I just... assumed.
What if she went at sunset and I'm not there? What if she went at noon and waited for hours? What if she's standing there right now, alone in the dark, thinking I forgot?
What if—
"Young Master."
Shenhe's voice. Quiet. Probing.
I blinked. Looked at her.
"You're thinking loudly."
Thinking loudly. Is that even a thing? With Shenhe, probably yes. She probably had a decibel meter for thoughts somewhere in that impossible head of hers.
"Sorry."
She studied me for a moment. Those blue eyes—cool, calm, utterly unreadable—missing nothing.
"You've been... distracted. Since last night."
Since last night. Since her. Since the conversation that felt like nothing and everything at the same time.
"I'm fine."
Shenhe's eyebrow twitched. The smallest possible movement. The closest she ever came to calling me a liar without using actual words.
I lasted another ten minutes.
Mochi got tired of my leg bouncing—I hadn't even noticed I was doing it—and jumped off with a reproachful look.
Mochi paused on the floor to give me a stare that clearly said sort yourself out, then stalked toward the kitchen with the quiet dignity of a creature who knew he was the true ruler of this household.
I stood up.
"I'm going out."
Two heads turned in perfect sync. The synchronization was almost unsettling.
Angy appeared from the kitchen, spatula in hand, a smudge of flour on her cheek. Her hair was slightly wild—wilder than usual—and there was something that might have been tomato sauce on her apron.
"Out? Where? Why? It's almost evening! Dinner's almost ready! Shenhe's making the good thing!"
"Just... a walk."
Shenhe's eyes narrowed. Slightly. Barely noticeable.
"Again?"
"Yes. Why not?"
"The village road again?"
"I don't know. Just... out."
Angy tilted her head, spatula dripping onto the floor. She didn't notice.
"You've been weird since yesterday, Young Master. Weirder than usual. Like, extra weird. Suspicious weird. Friend-related weird?"
Friend-related. Is that what Arcueid is? A friend? Can you be friends with someone who erased your team? Can you be friends with someone who terrifies you and fascinates you in equal measure?
"No," I said. The word came out too fast. "Not friend-related."
Shenhe said nothing. Just watched. Her eyes were doing that thing where they seemed to see straight through my skull and read the thoughts I hadn't even finished thinking yet.
The silence stretched. Angy glanced at Shenhe. Shenhe glanced at Angy. Some kind of communication passed between them—silent, ancient, the product of seventeen years of knowing each other better than anyone else alive.
Then Shenhe spoke. "One hour." Her voice was calm. Final. The same voice she'd used yesterday. The same voice she probably used in combat. "Same rules. Not a minute more. Or we mobilize."
"I know."
I walked toward the door.
"Young Master." Angy's voice. Softer now. The teasing gone. "Whatever it is... you can talk to us. You know that, right?"
I paused. Hand on the doorframe.
"I know."
I didn't turn around. Couldn't. If I turned around, they'd see something in my face I wasn't ready to show yet.
"One hour," Shenhe repeated.
"Understood."
°°°
I walked.
Not the cycle. Just walking slowly. Feet finding the familiar path while my mind wandered somewhere else entirely.
Why am I going? She said she'd be there. But she didn't say when. She didn't say for how long.
What if she's not there? What if she was there earlier and left? What if she never came at all and I'm walking toward nothing?
What if she is there? What do I even say? Hello again. Nice stars. Did you wait long?
The village passed around me. The same village I'd walked through yesterday.
The same farmers heading home from the fields, mud on their clothes, tired smiles on their faces.
The same children playing in the fading light, their laughter high and unburdened.
The same old woman on her porch, shelling peas into a bowl with hands that had been doing this for decades.
They waved. I waved back. It was becoming automatic now. This rhythm of normalcy. This pattern of peace.
I crossed the stone bridge. The one that spanned the smaller river, the one that cut through the heart of the village.
I stopped for a moment. Looked down. The first few moons were rising, their reflections rippling on the dark water. Three of them so far—one bright white, one pale yellow, one with that soft orange tint.
The road curved. The village is officially ended.
And there it was.
That field.
Endless. Vast. A sea of wild grass and late-blooming flowers that swayed in the evening breeze like they were dancing to music only they could hear.
The last light of the sun painted everything gold and amber and rose. The sky was a gradient of color—orange bleeding into pink bleeding into red bleeding into the deep blue of coming night.
And there, at the exact center—
A figure in white.
Standing perfectly still.
Waiting.
She was here.
She actually came.
She waited.
How long? An hour? Two? The whole day? I didn't know. But she was here. Standing in the same spot as yesterday.
I stopped at the edge of the field. The grass brushed against my legs, whispering secrets I couldn't quite hear.
Her back was to me. She was facing the hills, the sky, the infinite spread of green and gold. Her blonde hair caught the last light, glowing like pale fire against the darkening world.
She hadn't seen me yet. Or maybe she had. Maybe she'd known I was coming before I even left the house. With her, it was hard to tell what she knew and what she simply... felt.
I walked forward.
The grass parted around me. The ground was soft beneath my feet—softer than any ground in Aventic.
I covered half the distance before she spoke.
Without turning.
"You came."
Her voice was calm, too calm for a entity like her.
"Ahh, well." I stopped a few paces behind her. "You said you'd be here."
"I did." She turned. Those red eyes caught the sunset. That face—beautiful and strange and almost human if you didn't look too close. "But people say many things. I've learned that. In this world."
People say things and don't mean them. People make promises and break them. People say I'll be there and then disappear.
She's learned that. In a few short weeks. How many times has she been disappointed?
I stepped closer. Close enough to see the faint crease between her brows.
"I meant it."
She looked at me. Searched my face for something—deception, hesitation, the telltale signs of a lie. I don't know what she found. But after a moment, she nodded.
"Good."
"Good?"
"What should I say except good here?" She tilted her head. That familiar gesture. Curious and unafraid. Still learning the rhythms of human conversation.
"Yeah," I said. "There's a point."
We stood there.
What now again? What do people do when they meet in fields? Talk? Walk? Just exist in the same space and call it enough?
"How was your day?"
The words came out before I could stop them.
She tilted her head further. Considered the question like it was a puzzle she needed to solve. "I don't know how to answer that."
"Just try... probably you can do it."
A pause. Longer than the others. She looked at the sky. At the grass. At her own hands.
"I woke up. I existed. I came here and I waited."
Another pause. Her voice softened.
"I watched the sky change. The light moved across the field. The grass moved with it. Everything here moves. Constantly. Nothing stays still."
"Is that bad?"
"No." She almost smiled. The corners of her lips twitched upward—barely, but it was there. "Just... different. In my world, nothing moved. Nothing changed. Everything was the same as the last. For countless years."
Countless years. The words landed in my chest and stayed there. I thought about what that must have been like. An existence without change. Without growth. Without sunsets or seasons or stars appearing one by one in the evening sky.
"That sounds..." I searched for the right word. Considered several. Discarded most of them. "...lonely."
"It was."
Two words. Simple and devastating. The most honest thing she'd said all night.
°°°
We started walking.
Not anywhere specific. Just along the edge of the field. Following the line where grass met sky. The same path as yesterday. The same gentle slope. The same whispering wind.
She talked. A little. More than yesterday, maybe. Or maybe she was just more comfortable now. More willing to share the observations she'd collected like precious stones.
"The birds were different today," she said. "Smaller. Faster. They moved in groups. Like they were dancing."
"Starlings, maybe. They do that. The flocking thing."
"Starlings." She tested the word like she was tasting it. "I didn't know their name. Thank you."
She talked about the child who'd waved at her on the road.
"A small human. This tall."
She held her hand at waist height.
"He waved his hand at me. I didn't know what to do."
"What did you do?"
"I waved back." She paused. "Was that correct?"
"You waved at a child?"
"Yes. He smiled. Then ran away."
"That's... normal. For children."
"Oh." She considered this. Relief flickered across her features—brief, barely noticeable, but there. "Good. I was worried I'd done something wrong."
"Nams."
I looked at her.
"What's your world like? The other one. Aventic."
The question caught me off guard. No one had asked me that.
I thought about it. Really thought. The images came—gray walls and gray skies and the constant hum of military machinery. The smell of blood and ozone after battles. The way mornings felt like reprieves and nights felt like borrowed time.
"Gray," I said. "Loud. Dangerous. Every day was a fight. Every night was a prayer that you'd see morning."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It was."
She nodded. Like she understood what it meant to live in a world that was trying to kill you.
"Here is better."
"Here is... different."
"Better," she insisted. Her voice was firm now. Certain. "You smiled. Twice since we started walking."
I did? I hadn't noticed. But now that she mentioned it—maybe.
"Maybe."
She almost smiled again. The third time tonight. I was starting to recognize the signs—the slight relaxation of her jaw, the softening around her eyes, the way her lips curved just barely upward. It wasn't a full smile. But it was something. Something real.
°°°
The sun kept dropping.
The Milky Way stretched across the sky like a river of light, the same river I'd seen last night, the same river I'd probably seen a hundred times without ever really looking.
She stopped walking.
Looked up.
The light caught her face. Her red eyes reflected the moons. For a moment, she didn't look otherworldly at all. She just looked like a girl. A girl seeing something beautiful. A girl who hadn't seen much beauty in her life.
"They're beautiful," she said. "Every night. Still beautiful."
"You've seen them before."
"Many times. But they don't get less beautiful." A pause. Her voice dropped. Quieter. Almost private. "In my world, nothing was beautiful. Not once. Not ever."
Nothing beautiful. For countless years. In a world where nothing moved and nothing changed and nothing was beautiful.
I thought about my own world. Gray and loud and dangerous. But there had been moments. Small moments. Angy's laughter. Shenhe's quiet presence. The way the sun looked rising over the training grounds. Even in the middle of all that death, there had been moments. And I don't want to mention Scarlett's idiotic behaviours.
But she'd had nothing.
"I'm glad," I said. The words felt inadequate. Too small for what I meant. "That you have this. Now."
She looked at me. Those red eyes. Catching starlight. Catching moonlight. Catching something I couldn't name but felt in my chest like a physical weight.
"Me too."
°°°
We walked back toward the village as the night deepened.
The road appeared. Familiar. Steady. The same road I'd walked a dozen times now.
I stopped at the edge of the village.
"Tomorrow?"
The word came out before I could stop it. Again. Just like yesterday. Just like I'd promised myself I wouldn't.
She looked at me. That unreadable expression. Those red eyes that held galaxies. That face that was becoming less strange and more... familiar. Every time I saw her.
"If you want."
I did. I didn't know why. I didn't know what I was doing or where this was going or whether any of it made sense. But I wanted to come back. I wanted to see her again. I wanted to keep having these strange, quiet conversations in this field that felt like it existed outside of time.
"Yeah."
She smiled. Small. Real. The fourth smile of the night. I was counting now. I hadn't meant to start, but I was.
"Then I'll be here."
°°°
I walked through the door.
Angy appeared instantly. Like she'd been waiting right behind it. "YOU'RE BACK! DINNER'S READY! SHENHE MADE THE GOOD THING!"
Her voice was loud enough to wake the neighbors. Her flour-smudged cheek had been cleaned at some point, but there was a new smudge—something purple, maybe jam—on her collar. Her eyes were bright with relief she was trying to hide behind enthusiasm.
Shenhe appeared behind her. Silent. Watching. Her blue eyes scanned me from head to toe. Checking for injuries. Checking for signs of another collapse.
I looked at them. The women who'd raised me. Who'd been there since I was three. Who'd never once asked where I went at night—not really. Who trusted me enough to let me walk into the dark alone, even when I came back late, even when I came back with stars in my eyes.
"Sorry I'm late," I said.
Angy waved a hand, the spatula—still in her grip—sending a small arc of something saucy toward the ceiling.
"You're not late! You're exactly on time! Dinner time! Which is the only time that matters! Everything else is just... waiting-for-dinner time!"
Shenhe's eyebrow twitched. The closest she came to a smile.
I almost smiled too. Almost.
°°°
After dinner, I lay in bed.
Mochi had claimed his spot on my chest. His purring vibrated through my ribs, steady and soothing. His yellow eyes were closed now, but I knew he'd wake the moment I moved. Cats were like that. Or maybe just this cat.
The fan spun above me. Same as always. I counted the rotations—a habit I'd had since childhood, since Aventic, since nights when counting fan rotations was the only thing that kept the nightmares away.
I thought about what she'd said.
In her world, nothing was beautiful. Not once. Not ever.
I thought about countless years without change, without stars, without anyone to wave at or birds to name.
I thought about what it must have been like to exist in that emptiness and not go mad.
And then I thought about her standing in that field. Looking at the sky. Saying they're beautiful like it was the first time. Every time. Like beauty was something that never got old because she'd spent so long without it.
Tomorrow. She'd be there tomorrow. Same time. Same field. Same two people who didn't quite belong anywhere.
I closed my eyes.
Mochi purred louder.
The fan kept spinning.
And somewhere between one rotation and the next, I fell asleep.
....