The glow faded between each others joined hands, leaving only the faintest tingling warmth in Vyre's palms.
Lunea's fingers lingered for a second longer before slipping away. Neither of them spoke at first. There was an unspoken awareness between them now not the intimate pull of a full link, but the thin, humming thread of a half link.
Vyre turned his wrist, feeling the faint vibration of it in his skin. It wasn't physical, not exactly. More like a subtle awareness a point in space that now existed in his mind, a direction he could turn toward and feel Lunea's presence, even if they weren't nearby.
"You'll feel it when I'm around now," Lunea said softly, brushing their palms against their thighs as if trying to shake away the lingering energy.
He glanced at them. "It's… strange. Like having a compass pointing at someone."
They smirked faintly. "A compass that doesn't work half the time. Don't expect much."
"I won't," he said, though the warmth in his chest betrayed him.
A flicker of motion passed in the corner of his vision. One of the mirrored shards that made up Nothollow's air shifted, tilting toward him. For a moment, his reflection wavered, showing something else a mechanical bird with brass wings perched on his shoulder. He blinked and it vanished.
"Come on," he said, glancing back toward the pathway of broken arches that wound through Nothollow. "If you can't see my strand yet, maybe I can still show you a fragment."
Lunea hesitated. "A fragment?"
He nodded. "Something I can send through the link. It won't give you access just a piece of it."
They walked in silence for a while, passing through air thick with the low hum of sorrow that always lingered in this place. The other wanderers paid them no attention, their faces drawn inward. Some sat staring into fragments that showed long-lost people. Others simply drifted, arms at their sides.
"You come here a lot?" Vyre asked.
"Not as much as I used to," Lunea said. "It's a little… heavy, don't you think?"
He glanced at them, surprised. "You don't like it?"
They shrugged. "It's not that. It's just… when I'm here too long, I feel like I start carrying other people's sadness with me. Even when I leave."
Vyre considered that. "Maybe I like it because it drowns mine out."
Lunea's gaze flickered toward him but they didn't press.
At the edge of a crumbling fountain, Vyre stopped. He extended his hand, palm up, and closed his eyes. He pictured the gears, the weight of brass, the tick of steady time. Slowly, a small object began to materialize above his palm a tiny clockwork sphere, intricate and golden, each panel carved with miniature constellations. The faint sound of ticking filled the air.
"This is part of my strand," he said, holding it out.
Lunea leaned in, eyes catching the glow. "It's beautiful." They reached toward it, and for a moment he thought they might take it but instead they hovered their fingers above the surface. The sphere shifted slightly, its panels rotating until a sliver of deep blue light spilled from inside.
"What's in there?" they asked.
He smiled faintly. "That's the part you can't see yet."
Their lips pressed together in a knowing way, and they sat back on their heels. "Fair enough. My turn, then."
They turned their own palm upward, and Vyre felt the link between them hum. A faint, translucent ripple of color passed from their hand into the air soft purples, seafoam green, flickers of coral. They swirled until they formed a miniature coastline, waves rolling in slow motion. A single figure stood at the shore, hair blowing in a wind he couldn't feel.
"That's part of my strand," they said quietly.
Vyre tilted his head. "Why do I feel like that's not really your strand?"
They looked at him with the smallest glint in their eye. "Because it isn't. It's a… doorway, maybe. To the parts I will let you see."
He chuckled. "So we're both teasing each other."
"Maybe," they said, a faint smile tugging at their mouth.
For a while, they simply sat there, their small creations hovering between them the ticking sphere and the endless coastline, suspended in Nothollow's dim air. Somewhere in the distance, one of the wanderers cried out, the sound echoing like breaking glass. Neither of them moved.
Eventually, Lunea flicked their fingers, and the coastline dissolved into shimmering dust. "That's all for today."
Vyre nodded, closing his hand around the clockwork sphere until it, too, disappeared. "Then maybe next time… a little more?"
They smirked. "Or maybe a little less."
And with that, they stood, brushing phantom dust from their palms, and began to walk toward the broken archway. The link between them still thrummed faintly, like a taut wire in his chest, following them even as the rest of Nothollow's haze closed in.