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The girl before them is familiar.
Familiar, of course she's familiar, she bears a striking resemblance to the traveler; from her honey eyes and blonde hair, to her scarf and the eclipse insignia on her dress she donned. Twins, Aether had described them as, and there was no doubt about it.
Venti had been told stories, time and time again. With each song he'd play he'd request a tale, a tale of two star-borne outlanders exploring the universe, with nothing but their sword and one another for company. A sweet laugh, glimmering eyes, and figure as delicate as a flower she had been described as; so where was that glow he had heard so much of?
Aether saw it.
Aether knew.
"Lumine!" he cried, voice of the verge of breaking. "Please, come on, let's get out of here. Let's go home."
Home.
Where was home?
Was he not home? Was he not enough to be a home? No, of course not, nothing could compare to the warmth of the one you hold most dear.
(Yet, there he was.)
(Wanting to be held.)
(Wanting to be loved.)
Of course, it was bound to happen eventually. There was no way the Traveler would want to stay in such an unfamiliar world, with no one there he knew. No one to rely on, no one to trust.
Trust. Such a fickle thing, wasn't it?
He trusted, when he should've learned not to long ago.
When Aether runs towards the fading portal, uselessly chasing stardust, all Venti's mind can come up with is, 'Please, don't leave me.'
So why, Celestia, why, is he the one who leaves first?
If the wind brings to him a cry of, 'Hey, where did that tone-deaf bard go?', he is unwilling to hear it.
Best not to be abandoned again.