As you descended upon the entrance of the Hanging Gardens, a tranquil oasis suspended amidst the chaos of the outside world, a sense of trepidation coiled within your chest. The sanctity of Ajak's meditation was not to be disturbed lightly. The weight of unspoken reverence pressed against you, urging restraint—yet something inexorable drew you forward.
Your hand grazed the greenery as you passed, your fingertips brushing against leaves damp with morning dew. The air swirled around your palm, thick with the scent of blooming flora. It wrapped around you like a breath held by the earth itself, carrying with it the distant murmur of cascading water. The garden hummed with quiet life, its rustling leaves whispering along the edges of your thoughts. You moved deliberately, allowing the sanctuary's rhythm to guide your steps, as if the world itself had conspired to grant you passage—to silently tell you it was time to seek a meeting with Ajak.
The golden sun cascaded across the expanse, its light stretching like fingers, tracing soft lines along ivy-laced columns and flowing pools that mirrored the sky's molten fire. The whispered sounds of nature soothed the bloom of pain in your chest—but never quite enough.
You walked on, staggered by a violent cough that rippled from deep within. It struck so forcefully that you had to grip the nearby pillar to steady yourself. Your hand flew to your mouth, only to find your fingers stained with crimson blood.
Without hesitation, you knelt by the pool and washed your hands, watching as the red dispersed in the water like ink in clear glass.
Ajak had warned you.
She had seen that flicker of pain in your eyes. Heard the way your breath faltered after you answered their desperate cries for help. And every time, the outcome was the same.
The consequences crashed over you in waves—an impulsive reaction you could never fully control. The only difference was whether your body emerged bruised… or broken.
And still, even now, you could not help but wonder…
"Seidon."
Your thoughts would have continued wandering—spiraling until they drove you mad.
But a voice, deep and wise, cut through the haze and snapped your attention back to its rightful place.
Your gaze locked with Ajak's, ensconced in serene tranquility. Her usual celestial armor was absent, replaced by flowing garments of Babylonian weave, seamlessly blending her into the history she had helped shape. She was a part of this world, woven into its tapestry not as a deity above it, but as a quiet force within it.
The depths of her eyes brimmed with wisdom—and something quieter. Understanding.
A gentle smile curved her lips, radiant yet tempered with the weight of knowing.
"Ajak."
The syllables of her name wove into the air, each one threaded with unspoken meaning, linking your voice to something deeper.
You inclined your body slightly, crossing your right arm over your chest—a mark of respect, a gesture of deference. Ajak mirrored it with practiced grace, a bond acknowledged without the need for words.
In quiet harmony, she beckoned you forward, her movement fluid, effortless. Without hesitation, you followed, your steps aligning with hers as the path ahead unfurled into a verdant labyrinth. The air carried the mingled fragrance of myrrh and jasmine, the warmth of the earth pressing through the soles of your feet, grounding you in the moment.
Side by side, you wove through the garden's embrace, the hush between you not of absence, but of understanding. The leaves whispered secrets to the wind, and the shifting hues of twilight bled into the landscape, as if the world itself breathed in time with your presence.
The ethereal beauty of the Hanging Gardens wrapped around you, a fragile haven suspended between sky and earth. Yet even amidst the cascading foliage and the tranquil murmur of water, the weight of the battle pressed against your chest, heavier than the air itself. The golden hues of the setting sun stretched across the sanctuary, catching in the glistening droplets clinging to the leaves—but even their warmth could not reach the tension coiled within you. In your stubbornness, you pushed it down, refused to let it show.
Your voice, measured yet edged with something deeper, finally broke the silence.
"We've taken care of the assault on the city," you said, the words carrying the weight of both relief and lingering unrest.
"Most of the humans emerged unharmed, their lives spared from the chaos. But not all."
Your jaw tightened. The memory of the wounded flickered through your mind—faces contorted in pain, hands reaching toward salvation that had nearly come too late.
Ajak listened, her gaze unwavering, absorbing the unspoken burdens you had yet to voice. The air between you carried the weight of unasked questions—the quiet knowing that had always existed between you.
You exhaled, a controlled breath meant to steady yourself before continuing.
But you were interrupted.
Like the hush of an incoming tide, she raised her eyebrow—not in question, not in demand. She simply waited… for you to say it.
I know you did it.
Her gaze was unharming, yet it cut through your guarded composure with effortless precision.
You hesitated, the instinct to dismiss your own exhaustion rising—clashing against the certainty in her gaze.
She had always known. She had always seen.
The truth settled between you, undeniable.
The strain you had tried to bury beneath duty—the cost of what you had done—it had never escaped her notice.
"I know you used your healing power," she said, her voice firm yet warm, an anchor against the storm inside you.
"Ajak…" A breath. A pause.
"I…" The ache in your voice betrayed the strain you had so carefully concealed.
Ajak stood as your beacon, offering solace and support in the eye of the storm.
You tried to speak, but no words came—only that sharp pain boiling in your chest, stronger now, relentless. Your breath turned shallow, the iron-tinged taste of blood thick in your throat. It made even breathing a struggle.
Once again, the cruel confirmation of the toll your healing power had exacted.
The Deviants had grown relentless. Their assaults were no longer brief strikes in the dark, but prolonged sieges against the city. With each battle, you had stretched your abilities further—wielding your power beyond reason, beyond safety.
The act of healing so many at once had left its mark.
Unseen, yet unmistakable.
A weight pressing deeper into your bones.
Ajak alone understood.
She—who bore the burden of leadership—had been the only one to whom you entrusted this secret.
Others saw only the battle, the victories. But she knew the cost— the silent war waged within you each time you reached beyond your limits. A power meant to restore could just as easily unravel the one who wielded it.
The pain swelled—sharp and unrelenting.
Your vision wavered.
The earth beneath your feet tilted, the world itself conspiring against your balance.
You fought it, fingers curling into the soil for stability, but the tremor in your limbs betrayed you.
You couldn't hold it in any longer.
You coughed—
a violent, guttural sound that tore from your chest as blood burst from your lips,
dark red and vivid in the twilight— a brutal contrast against the white marble slab below. Too fast. Too much. Too real to hide.
Ajak was already moving.
"Seidon, look at me."
Her voice cut through the haze—steady, unwavering.
A hand found your shoulder, firm yet gentle, grounding you before the collapse could claim you.
"Listen to my voice…"
Cosmic energy bloomed in her palms, golden light spilling between her fingers.
Its warmth seeped into your skin, threading through the fractures within you,
quieting the storm that had begun to pull you under.
The pain receded, drawn away like the tide, leaving clarity in its wake.
The tremor in your muscles eased.
Breath returned to your lungs, no longer shallow—no longer burdened.
The weight that had crushed against your ribs lifted at last.
No more blood came.
Pain had passed, but in its place, it left every muscle aching, every joint heavy with fatigue.
Ajak's outstretched hands remained, a lifeline pulling you upright once more.
"Thank you, Ajak," you murmured.
The words carried more weight than mere gratitude.
A quiet understanding settled between you as Ajak's gaze lingered, searching for any trace of hesitation.
The air thickened—a silence shaped by an unspoken question.
"Does anyone else know?" she asked at last, her tone even, but edged with something unmistakable—concern.
"Gilgamesh caught a glimpse of the side effects," you said. "But I don't think he or the others noticed."
You shook your head, the motion small. Controlled.
No one else knew. No one could know.
Ajak's expression remained unreadable, but her next words left no room for misinterpretation.
"Good. Keep it between us—for now. Need-to-know basis."
A warning.
A command.
You met her gaze, understanding the gravity behind her words.
The truth of your ability was not merely a secret—it was a liability. One that could shift the balance of everything you knew.
"Understood."
Satisfied, Ajak gave a small nod—but as you made to rise, her hand lifted in a subtle motion, halting you in place.
"Stay here," she instructed. "I need to give my report to Arishem before we attend the party."
You inclined your head in silent acknowledgment, stepping back as she moved toward the edge of the terrace. Her gaze turned skyward, and with a shimmer of cosmic energy, her celestial armor materialized out of thin air. The moment her presence shifted, you responded instinctively, angling yourself slightly away to grant her the space she needed.
The weight of the moment settled over you—a silent pressure that had nothing to do with the warmth of the evening air. Though your mission was to protect humanity from the Deviants, the Prime Celestial had entrusted you with another duty—one that eclipsed all others.
Protect Ajak.
Your Prime Eternal.
That command had been woven into your very being—and yet, it was not duty alone that anchored you to her side. It was something else, something deeper, though no words had ever been spoken to define it.
The hush of her communion with Arishem was almost tangible, a force that pressed against the edges of your consciousness. Though you could not hear it, you felt it—the immense presence of the Prime Celestial: vast, heavy, and unknowable, reaching through the void to deliver its decree.
You shifted to your knees on the marble slab, drew in a steady breath, and exhaled slowly—shouldering the weight of Arishem's presence alongside Ajak, carried in the silent tether that bound the two of you.
Then, a breath.
Ajak exhaled, and the weight in the air lifted—just slightly.
Your attention snapped back to her.
"Are you alright?" The words left you before you had the chance to temper them. Concern edged your voice as your eyes scanned her features, searching for any sign of strain.
"I'm okay…" Ajak's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. But the pause between her words betrayed her. She drew in another breath, slow and measured—as if recalibrating, as if gathering herself before stepping forward once more.
Then, the distant hum of revelry reached your ears. Laughter, the rhythmic beat of drums, voices lifted in celebration.
Ajak straightened. The weariness in her gaze gave way to something lighter.
"Come," she said, a thread of amusement weaving back into her voice. "The party is about to start. We best not miss it."
She turned with effortless grace, her movement fluid and unhurried.
You nodded once, falling into step behind her as she descended the stone steps—guiding you both back toward the vibrant heart of Ishtar City.
**********
Here, in the aftermath of yet another victorious encounter against the relentless Deviants, celebration had become a ritual as ingrained as the battles themselves. The city pulsed with life, its people reveling in triumph, their laughter and music spilling into the streets like a tide washing away the weight of war. The anticipation of the night's festivities shimmered in the air, an enchanting aura that softened the edges of exhaustion.
As you descended into the heart of it all, your gaze caught on the laughter of children—bright eyes reflecting firelight as they darted between clusters of revelers. Their joy was unburdened, untouched by the scars of the battle that had unfolded just hours ago. And in that fleeting moment, the weight in your chest eased.
You turned toward Ajak, a word forming on your lips—only to be interrupted by a sudden flurry of movement.
A small Babylonian girl rushed forward, her tiny fingers latching onto your forearm, excitement crackling in the space between you. She tugged insistently, her words tumbling over one another in rapid, eager bursts, beckoning you toward the heart of the revelry.
You glanced at Ajak. Her smile was knowing, her nod a silent affirmation.
"Go," she said, her voice warm with trust. "I'll be right behind."
Gratitude flickered through you as you allowed the child to lead you forward, her grip firm, unwavering. Behind you, Ajak lingered a moment longer before stepping into the tide of celebration.
Under the soft hum of the rising moon, the city square had transformed into a living tapestry of human revelry. The night's festivities had stretched long into dawn, yet the energy remained unbroken. Fires blazed from stacked timber, casting shifting patterns across the worn stone beneath dancing feet. Voices overlapped in a symphony of cheer, spilling from one gathering to another.
A clay mug, cool and brimming, rested in your grip as you wove through the throng, your smile easy, effortless. This, too, was part of what you all had given to humanity—not just the means to survive, but the understanding that life was meant to be celebrated.
To your left, a group toasted to victory, their laughter ringing like bells in the crisp air. Further ahead, your eyes found Sersi, encircled by a cluster of children, her warmth drawing them in like moths to a flame. Not far from her, Druig leaned in the shadows, the faint curl of his lips betraying his amusement as a nearby drinking contest devolved into bewildered embraces—a subtle nudge of influence, no doubt.
Makkari was nowhere in sight—not that it was a surprise. If she was here, it was only for as long as she chose to be seen. No doubt off on another treasure hunt—this time chasing the myth of the Emerald Tablet.
At the forefront, Gilgamesh and Kingo occupied the prime seats of the gathering, their attention fixed on Sprite, who spun the day's battle into legend. Her voice rose and fell in masterful cadence, painting each moment in strokes of grandeur, each embellishment earning murmurs of awe. Even the warriors who had fought beside her listened, enraptured—as if hearing their own deeds for the first time.
Laughter rippled through the crowd, camaraderie crackling like fire in the crisp night air. But the ease of the moment took an unexpected turn when Gilgamesh, emboldened by drink and mischief, attempted to squeeze into the already occupied seat beside Kingo.
The motion, ill-calculated, ended in a stumble.
A slosh of beer tipped forward, its golden arc spilling toward Kingo with unerring accuracy.
But he was faster.
With the practiced ease of a man accustomed to dodging worse, Kingo twisted away just in time, the liquid missing him by mere inches. He straightened, his expression flickering between triumph and disbelief before settling into something unmistakably amused.
Aware of his close call, Kingo blinked, equal parts amused and exasperated.
"Really, Gil?! There are so many other chairs, man. You know, I could—" Kingo's protest was cut short as Gilgamesh, eyes twinkling with mischief, effortlessly hooked his strong bicep around him, pulling him into a playful headlock. Laughter rumbled from Gilgamesh as he ruffled Kingo's carefully styled hair with a massive palm, reveling in the momentary triumph.
"Hey! Not the hair!" Kingo yelped, twisting in protest. His hands flailed as he tried in vain to escape Gilgamesh's grasp, his expression one of exaggerated despair. Catching your gaze across the revelry, he extended a desperate hand toward you, his eyes pleading.
"Seidon, help me!"
His call for rescue barely reached you before being swallowed by the swell of music and laughter. The jubilant chorus of the celebration drowned out his plea, his words lost to the rhythmic claps and stomping feet of the revelers.
"Oh no, you're on your own brother!"
Laughter bubbled from your lips as you watched—Kingo's mock suffering, Gilgamesh's unrestrained joy. It was a scene woven from centuries of camaraderie, of battles fought and victories celebrated.
Just as your laughter faded into a quiet smile, a familiar presence settled beside you—light on her feet, soft in her breath.
"You've been standing there long enough," Sersi said, her voice carrying a lilt of mischief, but beneath it, something gentler. "Come dance with me."
Before you could answer, her hand found yours—cool, steady, just as it had been since Babylon first rose from sand and stone. She didn't tug, didn't insist. She simply held on, the invitation wrapped more in memory than request.
You set your clay mug aside and allowed yourself to be led. The weight of battle, the strain of all you had given, dulled at the edges as she drew you toward the open space between the fires—where couples and strangers moved to rhythms both ancient and alive.
"Don't worry," she said, her lips curving into a half-smile as she turned to face you, "I promise not to outshine you… too much."
You followed her into the swirl of firelight and footsteps, the rhythm of the drums pressing gently against your senses. But when Sersi moved, you didn't—at least, not with grace. Your body responded with the precision of a soldier, not the ease of a dancer. The crowd flowed like water, yet you stood stiff as stone.
She noticed.
Her fingers tightened slightly in yours, anchoring you with a smile that reached her eyes. "You're thinking too much again."
You gave a half-shrug. "Old habits."
Her laughter was soft but unyielding. "Then let me remind you."
And just like that, her hand lifted, guiding your palm to her shoulder in a familiar rhythm. The memory struck before your body moved. Ishtar City—years ago, after the first successful defense against the Deviants. The fires had burned higher that night, relief thick in the air. You had been younger then. Quieter. Still uncertain where you belonged in the team. The others danced freely in the square, celebrating survival. You'd stayed back—watching, not joining.
Until Sersi found you.
"Here," she'd said, reaching for your hands, "if you can command the tides, you can follow a simple beat."
You'd protested. But she'd taught you anyway—one step at a time. No judgment. No rush. Just the quiet patience of an older sister reminding her younger brother that life was more than war.
Now, all these years later, her rhythm hadn't changed.
"Start with the left," she said again, the words unchanged by time. "Then let the rest follow."
You exhaled slowly, letting your body remember what your mind kept trying to control. The stiffness gave way—just enough for her smile to grow.
"There he is," she whispered.
And just like that, you moved—not with the precision of combat, but with something looser. Familiar. You weren't dancing with the crowd. You were dancing with her.
Your feet found the rhythm, your breath matched the music, and the weight in your chest—just for that moment—began to lift.
"Thank you," you said quietly. Not just for the dance.
Sersi didn't answer right away. She only looked at you the way she always had—since the beginning—like you were someone worth staying beside.
The song shifted, and she let your hand go, spinning off into the crowd with a final wink.
**********
The night carried on, a tapestry of light and sound unfolding around you. From the corner of your eye, movement caught your attention—two familiar figures slipping toward the city gates.
Ikaris and Thena.
Even amidst the revelry, Ikaris' furrowed brows betrayed concern, his stance rigid as he attempted to dissuade Thena from her course. His words were low, urgent. But the glint in Thena's eyes held no room for hesitation. She scoffed, brushing past him, her steps purposeful as she disappeared beyond the city walls, swallowed by the night's embrace.
You took a slow sip from your mug, the cool bitterness grounding you—just as a sudden gust of wind announced a new arrival.
Makkari.
She materialized beside the table where Druig sat, her presence stirring the air like the final note of a song just before the next verse begins.
Druig, ever unbothered, leaned back with lazy amusement. "My beautiful Makkari. You're late."
She arched a brow, the flicker of challenge in her gaze needing no translation.
Leaning casually against a nearby wall, you watched the exchange unfold. Their energy was electric, yet effortless. They moved in a language of glances, smirks, and gestures that needed no voice.
Nearby, a group of humans teetered on the edge of confrontation. You saw it—the tension, the subtle coil of stance just before fists flew—
And then, it shifted.
Aggression melted into confusion. Moments later, laughter erupted as one man clapped another on the back, the earlier heat gone, replaced by the warmth of sudden camaraderie.
Druig's smirk deepened.
Makkari, eyes alight with mischief, gave him a knowing look. Then, seamlessly, she joined the act—nudging the now-joyful humans into deeper displays of unity, her steps turning their hesitation into harmony.
A quiet laugh escaped your lips. The two of them moved like dancers, their mischief and timing unfolding in perfect sync—as if they shared not just a bond, but a rhythm only they could hear.
And in that moment, even with the weight of eternity pressing behind your thoughts, you felt something rare.
Happiness.
True and unburdened—for the two mischievous souls who, in their own way, were healing the world too.
As the vibrant festivities continued to unfold in the city square, you moved from group to group, the last remnants of beer slipping from your jug before you set it aside. The night pulsed with life, laughter interwoven with the rhythmic beat of drums, flames casting flickering patterns against the revelers who danced in joyous abandon.
Your gaze drifted, drawn by a different sight—Ikaris, standing beside Ajak, engaged in quiet conversation. His expression, unreadable yet taut with thought, mirrored the weight of their exchange.
You tried not to listen, but your sharpened senses caught fragments nonetheless. Something about a promise—that personal feelings would not become a distraction to his mission.
Then Ajak's voice, quiet but firm—something about his faith in the Prime Celestial, Arishem.
It wasn't the first time you'd seen that look on his face.
You remembered another night—years ago, after a battle not unlike today's. The fires of victory had barely cooled when Ikaris had pulled Ajak aside, his voice low, urgent, laced with frustration rather than fatigue.
You'd stood at a distance, hidden among shadowed stone and ivy, not intending to intrude. But his words had carried.
"We could've chased them down. Finished them. Why hold back?"
Ajak's tone had remained calm, but there'd been tension at the corner of her mouth—a sign only a few would catch.
"Because there's more to protecting this world than wiping away threats."
"That's not what Celestial asked of us," Ikaris had insisted, his voice tight. "They gave us a mission. No deviations. No exceptions."
"And what do you think I've been doing all these centuries?" Ajak had answered quietly. "Serving doesn't mean turning off your mind—or your heart."
But her words had only deepened the furrow in his brow.
"You taught me to follow the Celestial. Not feelings."
Even then, you had felt it—that the certainty in his voice wasn't rooted in wisdom, but in something colder. Not trust. Obedience.
Your body had moved before your mind reasoned it through.
Not abruptly. Not intrusively.
Just enough to step forward from the shadows—close enough for Ajak to know you were there. Silent, but present. A quiet figure at her side.
You didn't speak. You didn't need to.
Ajak's eyes had flicked toward you for the briefest moment, and in that glance, her shoulders eased—just slightly.
You were there. And she knew.
Ikaris had noticed too. His gaze had shifted toward you, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. Not quite resentment. Not yet. But something had shifted in the silence between the three of you.
That was the moment you began to understand.
Ikaris didn't just believe in the mission.
He believed in Arishem.
Entirely. Absolutely.
And it wasn't trust.
It was something more dangerous.
Conviction.
Now, standing at the edge of the terrace, your gaze followed the memory's line into the present—where Ajak stood once again beside Ikaris, her silhouette framed in firelight.
Then, beyond them, you saw Sersi—her figure illuminated by the bonfire as she moved effortlessly among the dancers. The flames twisted in time with her, casting a golden shimmer along the folds of her attire. The very air around her shimmered with warmth.
You allowed yourself a moment in the pulse of the celebration—the music, the laughter, the fire. It beat around you like a second heartbeat.
Then Ikaris moved.
Descending the steps, he walked toward the bonfire, his stride deliberate, unwavering. A flicker of something—concern? suspicion?—pressed against the edges of your thoughts as you watched him close the distance between himself and Sersi.
As if sensing your gaze, Ajak spoke.
"Seidon."
You turned. She was watching you, her expression calm, yet knowing.
You pushed off the wall and joined her at the top of the terrace steps, standing beside her as you watched Ikaris take Sersi's hand. Together, the two disappeared into the darkness beyond the city gates.
Ajak exhaled softly.
"I respect your wisdom, Ajak," you said quietly, your words measured with care. "But I've noticed something about Ikaris."
You paused. The unease pressing against your ribs demanded voice.
"Celestial smites me if I've overstepped," you continued, "but I have to say it aloud."
Ajak turned to face you, her silence a quiet permission.
"I don't think you should encourage that kind of loyalty in him. The kind that doesn't question. That doesn't bend. With conviction like that… I don't trust him to watch my back. That kind of loyalty can be dangerous."
Ajak didn't respond immediately. But something flickered behind her eyes—an echo of your concern, long buried, long known.
"To say he is stubborn is an understatement," she murmured at last.
Her silence stretched between you—heavy, yet revealing. Then she turned her gaze back to the celebration below, releasing a slow, measured breath.
"You noticed it too," she said.
"I did," you replied.
She rested her fingers lightly against the stone railing. "He flies too high in the sky," she said softly, "and cannot see the beauty. I fear when he falls… it will be far."
You followed her gaze to the now-distant city gates, where the silhouettes of Ikaris and Sersi had long since vanished.
"I hope Sersi can help him see it," she added, almost to herself.
You thought of them as they had been on the Domo—bright, certain, like twin stars held in balance.
"I hope so too," you said, stepping a little closer to Ajak, your eyes drifting once more to the city's glow.
Then, her voice—quiet, but pointed:
"Who do you trust, then?"
The question caught you off guard.
You turned to her, surprised by the weight of it.
"I trust you, Ajak," you answered, steady as stone. "And I will follow you to the end."
Ajak didn't speak, but her eyes lingered on you a moment longer, as if weighing the truth behind your words—and the burden you chose to carry.
And then, silence. The kind that doesn't ask for anything more.
The music still drifted from below, muffled by distance, softened by time. But you didn't move to rejoin it. Not yet.
You stood alone at the terrace edge as Ajak turned away, her steps vanishing into the shadows beyond the pillars.
And that's when it returned.
A subtle tremor beneath your ribs. The dull ache behind your lungs. A pulse of something raw threading through your bones, like a warning written into marrow. You pressed a hand to your side, eyes fixed on the dark horizon where Ikaris and Sersi had vanished—and where you knew something was beginning to fray.
You took a slow breath, but it didn't come easy.
The healing had taken more than you'd admitted.
And though you stood in a city ringing with celebration, surrounded by laughter and firelight, the truth pressed colder than night air against your skin:
Peace never lingers
where the stars still watch.
You remained alone for a while after Ajak departed, standing on the edge of the terrace beneath the starlit sky. Below, the murmurs of celebration still drifted faintly from the city—music, laughter, the clatter of dancers' feet—but they no longer reached you. Not really.
Your arms folded across your chest as you looked out toward the hills, now blanketed in dusk. The wind shifted, brushing against your face, and you breathed it in—earthy, warm, touched with the scent of distant firelight. And something else. Something faint, metallic.
A flicker of doubt rose again.
If one day, I am commanded to do something I cannot accept… will I follow? Or will I defy the voice that made me?
Your gaze lowered to the far end of the plaza, where the last few embers of festivity still glowed. There, curled against a stone column, you spotted the same little girl who had pulled you into dance hours ago. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, head tucked into her mother's lap. Asleep, barefoot, her hair tangled with dust and starlight. She didn't stir.
That small, human shape—so fragile—held more gravity than all the stars above.
You watched her breathe.
And in that moment, something shifted in the air.
If they ever asked me to harm her, would I still obey?
Not the wind. Not the warmth.
A silence that was not silence. A weight that pressed—not outward, but inward, as though the sky itself had turned its gaze upon you.
You lifted your head sharply. No movement. No sound. Just the stars.
But in the back of your mind, a shiver ran through your senses.
Above it all—silent, patient—Celestials watched still.