Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dawn breaks in Timber Hearth.

Gossan is up early. They’re not fond of the experience of being up before the sun crests the crater’s edge, but they have important business to attend to today. After all, this morning their best friend should be arriving home, and they already told Hornfels they would be manning the ground control radio for the day in anticipation.

What that ultimately means is that Hornfels is fretting about procedures behind them, while they rub their face with both hands and try to focus on the radio console in front of them. Really, Hornfels has better things to do, and they’ve made that point several times. It doesn’t seem to stick, and the only solace they’re getting is the warmth of the energy-delivering tea they picked up from Porphy.

They really wish Hornfels would get on with the rest of their work. Sanidine and Halite are about old enough to start choosing their paths in life, and they’re both intent on talking to Hornfels about apprenticing at the museum today, though Gossan is sure young Sani is going to pick the Venture’s flight program instead. Hornfels also has to find something for their remaining trainee Gabbro to do, since Gossan being busy means no regular flight training. And on top of that, there’s the matter of the star charts that Chert delivered just the other day.

So why, void take them, is Hornfels still standing behind Gossan’s seat?

“I think I told you I’ve got a handle on things, Horns.” Gossan says, when the harried museum director finally gives them a chance to speak.

“And I think you’re still half asleep, Gos’.” Hornfels sighs. “You know, you don’t have to wait for them here. Feldspar will be home today whether you’re the first person to greet them on the radio or not.”

“I’m going to throw my tea at you, and that’ll wake us both up.” Gossan glances over their shoulder. “If Sanidine and Hal get here, and you haven’t opened up the museum door yet, then you get to deal with them workin’ each other up about it.”

Hornfels grimaces. “I suppose you have a point. Just promise me you’ll remember to check in on the rest of the channels other than Hearth Approach? Chert’s back out there already, and Riebeck said they would be making contact from the Lunar Outpost today after resting there.”

Gossan nods. Finally, progress. Their sanity couldn’t have taken much more of Hornfels’ anxious reminders about different dials and switches. “I’m aware. Y’told me three times already. If I could fly one of Slate’s old ships out to the Hourglass Twins and back again to resupply Chert, then I think I can monitor multiple radio frequencies at once. Go get ready, Horns.”

“Fine, very well.” Hornfels sighs again. It always sounds so put-upon when it’s in response to one of the other founders. It’d almost fool them into thinking Hornfels meant it, if they hadn’t been friends for so long. They place a hand on Gossan’s shoulder as they walk past toward the stairs. “I can’t wait to see them again, too.”

“I’m sure they know.” Gossan says, smiling faintly. Of course Feldspar knows, because they would never let their friend forget. “We’ll open some of Porphy’s best tonight. Just the five of us.”

“It’s a plan.” Hornfels waves their hand in the air once. “I’ll be back up to check on things later.”

Then Gossan is alone with the radio and their thoughts.

It’s kind of aggravating, to be honest. As much as Hornfels’ anxiety makes theirs worse, at least it was something to listen to, to distract themself from the boredom of a long shift.

They focus by thinking about their friend. To everyone else, they’re the greatest pilot in the universe, a living legend. To Gossan, Hornfels, Slate, and Esker, they’re just Feldspar. Their best friend. The reason they first put on a flight suit and found the joy of zero gravity. Invincible Feldspar, who set several height and duration records for geyser jumping before the space program officially received the blessing of the tree keepers and the mayor. The impulsive troublemaker whose enthusiasm led them all into space, convinced them all to found Outer Wilds Ventures.

And now the Venture’s grown beyond their wildest dreams. Riebeck launched just a few days ago and has been camping out at the Nomai ruins on the Attlerock, Chert has made multiple trips out to catalog the stars from various celestial bodies, Gabbro will be ready to launch in somewhere around a year. Though they’ve been quiet and noncommittal when asked, Gossan is certain that Sanidine will choose the Venture, because behind the way the hatchling tries to hide the emotion in their eyes Gossan sees that same spark of reckless love for the stars that they saw in their friend so long ago.

It fills Gossan’s heart with pride, to the point of bursting. They can’t wait to tell their friend all that’s happened since they left on their expedition.

Hours pass. Chert finally radios in, and at least the tea and some food have helped keep Gossan from dozing.

“Ground Control?”

That doesn’t mean they’re not caught off guard a bit. They fumble for the send button.

“Hey, Chert. I’m coverin’ for Hornfels today.”

Chert sounds like they’re smiling at that. Hearing from Gossan in the field is a rare treat, not that they have anything against Hornfels. “Oh, hello Gossan! Lovely to hear from you. What’s the occasion?”

“Felds is due home today. I figured on being the one to welcome ‘em this time.” Gossan smiles too, glancing at the Hearth Inbound monitor. Nothing yet, but the day isn’t even quite half over. “You just checking in?”

“A little later than I meant to, I admit.” Chert chuckles slightly. “The Ash Twin was trying to keep me from landing smoothly. But all is well. I should have the devices I left behind on Ember Twin packed up and ready to leave before you and Feldspar are opening the celebratory sap wine.”

“Glad to hear it!” Gossan beams. “We really appreciate it, Chert. Horns isn’t great at rememberin’ to say it, but your star charts are a huge part of what keeps him from having to fly out on his own. Plus, Slate says this latest batch should help him actually get the autopilot working when the sun’s in frame.”

“Ah… is that so? A working autopilot near the twins would be wonderful!” Chert says. Their attempt to hide the giddiness in their voice might’ve worked if they were still talking to Hornfels. Sometimes, a reminder that the work being done is important and appreciated is all it takes to make someone’s day- something Gossan decides to reiterate to Hornfels later.

“If that ain’t the truth.” Gossan shakes their head. “Honestly, if I knew you’d be flying out there this often when I was trainin’ you, I would’ve made sure we both used it less. Been hammerin’ the importance of manual retrorocket control into Gabbro this time.”

“Hm! I’m sure Gabbro has been appreciating your efforts.” Chert says, drily. “I should return to work collecting my probes, Gossan. But it was great to talk to you again.”

Gossan rolls their lower eyes. Gabbro… has been less than appreciative of the amended training regimen, but not enough that they don’t see the value in it. “You too, Chert. Fly safe out there.”

The line goes quiet, and the founder sinks back into the seat. It’s not the most comfortable seat on the Hearth. They muse that they’ll need to convince Hornfels to replace it at some point, for their back’s sake.

Time ticks on. Mid-afternoon, still no word, and Gossan’s starting to feel nervous about the whole thing. Feldspar is many things, but late- at least where the Venture is concerned- is never one of them. Besides which, even that old bucket they call a ship has a long-range emergency signal, and from Chert’s location they can see enough of the solar system that it would get picked up nearly instantly.

Unless it came from the Bramble. But there’s no reason for Feldspar to be anywhere close to that far out.

Their eyes snap fully open again at the sound of another signal coming in. Not Hearth Inbound. Their heart sinks a little, but they try not to think about why. Riebeck’s voice instead filters in on the Lunar Outpost channel. Their voice coming in at all is good news, considering Riebeck could barely form words after their first training flight, and that was suborbital.

“H-hey, um, no, I mean, hello! Riebeck calling, from t-the Lunar Outpost!”

Gossan can just imagine the nervous young astronaut’s shaking. They can also just imagine Esker, poor Esker, trying so hard to keep a straight face as the rookie winds themself up just standing in a crater with a radio in hand. It’s hard to believe Riebeck made it up there at all, and they nearly fainted upon seeing Esker with their suit off the first time sitting up there with their saplings.

To be honest, Gossan couldn’t be prouder of Riebeck.

“Hey Riebeck. Gossan standin’ in for Hornfels today. How’s the Outpost treating you?”

“Gossan! W-wow, is, um, is Hornfels okay?” Riebeck asks, because of course they do, because for all their nerves their first thought is so consistently of others.

“They’re fine, Riebeck. I just want to be the first one to greet Felds when they get home.” Gossan shakes their head. “Don’t worry, just your flight coach bein’ sentimental. ‘Sides, someone had to chase Hornfels out of here so they could handle Hal and Sanidine’s interview day.”

“Oh, yeah!” Riebeck’s smiling again, which is a wonderful thing to hear. “Gosh, that was today? I hope it went well! They’re both really clever, I would love to work with them on Nomai studies.”

“I have to reckon it did, since Hornfels didn’t come charging up here in a huff to complain.” Gossan laughs. “You know me, though, I’m expectin’ Sanadine to wind up with us in space, museum trained or no.”

“That would be exciting, too! It w-would be good, wouldn’t it, to have a b-bunch of astronauts up here all together.” Riebeck gives Gossan a nervous little laugh.

“Reckon so.” Gossan nods. “The more the merrier, and all those corny things Esker likes to say. Plus, then maybe you two could get some researchin’ in together from time to time, help you with those nerves.”

“Oh, gosh, um. Maybe.” Riebeck says, and Gossan can just imagine the way they’re trying not to get overexcited at the prospect. “That would be, that would be much easier than doing this alone.”

Gossan smiles fondly. “Speakin’ of research! How was that lunar ruin? You enjoy your first actual xeno-archaeological job off-Hearth?”

That does it. Riebeck goes off on a ten minute ramble about how exciting the ruins are, and Gossan, well, Gossan tries to follow it, but this is really Hornfels’ field. They at least manage to make some very impressed noises at what seem to be the right times. Riebeck wants to return with reference material for manual translations, and that makes Gossan smile all over again.

“You, volunteering for more off-Hearth hours? Those ruins must be exciting.”

“They are! They’re so much more impressive than the photographs, a-and, to think they’ve been right here on the Attlerock this whole time!” Riebeck laughs. Not so nervous now, Gossan thinks. Exactly what they should be feeling like.

“Ahh, good. I won’t keep you, Riebeck. I’m sure you’re eager to get packed up so you can plan the next trip. Don’t give Esker too hard a time if they fuss over your ship a little, you hear me?”

“I won’t, G-Gossan. Tell Feldspar and everyone I’ll b-be home soon!” Riebeck signs off, and the line goes quiet again.

Gossan sighs, leaning back into the seat again, eyes falling on the indicator light for Hearth Inbound. Nothing. Well, still plenty of time before Feldspar is actually late to the point of emergency, they try to reassure themself. Feldspar doesn’t need them to worry about a few hours, no need to stress out unnecessarily.

Hornfels arrives again as the sun is setting. “Gos’? You fall asleep up here or what?”

Gossan takes a breath to steel themself. “I wish. Nothing yet, Horns.”

Hornfels pauses at the top of the steps, then rushes around the center of the observatory deck and looks over the radio console. Straight into that no-nonsense attitude, because if they let themself worry about what that might mean, then they’ll freeze up. “Maybe a malfunction. I’ll-”

“You and I both know that Felds would just land anyway if they couldn’t get in touch with us.” Gossan shakes their head, standing. “I need to get outside, clear my head. They’d make fun of me for sitting here worrying, I reckon. Can you see if Esker, Chert, and Riebeck can sweep for any unexpected signals? Ventures and emergency frequencies?”

“Of course.” Hornfels says. They put a hand on Gossan’s shoulder, and the two look at each other, neither one hiding their concern. “We’ll find out what’s going on, Gos’.”

“I know we will.” Gossan nods firmly. “I’d just like that to happen soon.”

Chapter Text

Gossan hasn’t slept properly in a month. They’ve been sleeping and eating by the observatory radio, nobody’s talked to them planetside except Porphy, Gneiss, and the other Founders. Nobody else needs to know that Gossan is so exhausted, so terrified. The only thing keeping them from being allowed to launch and chase after Feldspar themself is Hornfels, because Hornfels can’t take the chance of losing both of them, and Gossan cant find the strength to argue with that.

The effort to find Feldspar has been completely fruitless. Nobody knows where they were last headed, nobody saw their ship traveling, nobody can find their signal. Nobody has an answer, and things have gone from ‘they’re late’ to ‘they’re missing’ to ‘they’re not coming home’, even if nobody wants to admit it.

And word has spread, despite the Founders’ best efforts, that the best of the best is almost certainly gone forever.

Everyone’s started to try to mourn and deal with it in their own way. Gossan wishes they weren’t, but they know they can’t blame them. The chances of finding Feldspar alive, at this point, feel so incredibly tiny. The Venture feels like a blade hanging over the heads of the hatchlings they’ve trained, and all those they want to train, poised to rob them of their lives just as heartlessly as it robbed Feldspar of theirs.

It isn’t supposed to ever happen like this. Feldspar has always come home, is always supposed to come home. Their best friend is always supposed to be there, somewhere in their life, as constant as the stars and even more brilliant. They’re supposed to have greeted each other, told their friend about the ways life has gone on back on Timber Hearth, met up with the others and sat by a fire and listened to Feldspar talk about their latest adventure with Porphy’s sap wine and their instruments.

And now, it’ll never happen again, and Gossan doesn’t know how they’re going to find it in them to face the universe. The stars, so beautiful above, almost feel spiteful in the way they keep shining without Feldspar there to explore them. The planets turn, and Gossan wants to find a way to shake their foundations, to grip their cores and yell at them that everything should stop, because the impossible has happened, and their friend is gone.

It’s not healthy, and they know it, and they do not care.

“Gos? Still up here?” Hornfels calls, coming up the steps.

“Yeah.” Gossan replies. “Nowhere else to be.”

Hornfels sighs, coming around to the radio console and sitting down beside Gossan’s awkwardly set up cot. “I know. You’ve been eating, right?”

“Hm. Some. Everythin’ tastes like the Ash Twin’s dirty slit.” Gossan mutters.

“Eat it anyway.” Hornfels says, long inured to Gossan’s talent with words. “I’m not losing you to starvation.”

Gossan refuses to look at their friend. “Why are you here, Horns? Both Chert and Riebeck checked in on schedule.”

Hornfels clenches their hands into fists for a moment. None of them have been able to have a normal conversation in a month. “Porphy asked me to check on you. Also, the place is full of my equipment, Gos. I can come up here if I want to.”

“Sure.” Gossan sighs, rubbing their face with both hands. “What’s the point, Horns?”

Hornfels’ eyes widen. They stare at Gossan, concern stabbing into their gut like a knife. “What?”

“Hah. Sorry. Might be I have been in my own head too long.” Gossan leans back against the wall, and they finally meet Hornfels’ gaze. “What’s the point of the Venture? If we can lose someone like that, just… gone, forever, not even a body. What are we doing here?”

Hornfels watches Gossan’s eyes for a moment. They both look like they’ve aged ten years in the last month, and they know from checking on them that Slate and Esker aren’t doing much better. “They’d hate to hear you talking that way.”

“Then they should’ve come home!” Gossan snaps, before sinking down to wrap their arms around their knees, pressing their face into them.

Hornfels flinches, Gossan’s voice echoing in the empty observatory.

“Hearth’s sake, Gos.” They finally say.

“Leave me alone, Horns.” Gossan mutters. “I ain’t in the mood to be around people.”

“No.” Hornfels grits their teeth. “You think I am?”

Gossan snorts derisively. “Yeah, right. Guess we agree we ain’t particularly people right now.”

Hornfels isn’t sure they can disagree with that, much as they hate it. They haven’t felt particularly like themself either. The comment still makes them glare at their friend. “If you don’t stop making comments like that, I’m going to kick you out of here.”

“Tell me I’m wrong! Y’think I haven’t seen how Slate’s eyes look? Heard Esker’s voice shake reporting another day of failures? I can’t avoid Gabbro and the hatchlings forever but I don’t even know what to say when I see them.” Gossan finally moves in order to punch the floor, teeth clenched. “The black took Feldspar and left us with nothing, and we’re just s’posed to keep going like it didn’t?”

Hornfels’ eyes fall to Gossan’s fist. Their words falter, and they barely manage to find them again.  “I don’t know, Gos. You’re not wrong. This was never supposed to happen, least of all to them.”

“Mnh.” Gossan grunts.

“But it did, so, I don’t know. They’d be laughing at us right now.” Hornfels shakes their head. “After everything they did, I suppose I can’t imagine giving up, but… I don’t have a good answer for you. I guess the point is the same one it always was, even now. Exploring and understanding.”

“We explored, and what we found out is that the universe is deadly. Is it worth losin’ Chert or Riebeck the same way?” Gossan asks. “We don’t even have a body, Horns. They’re just gone. I can’t do that to those hatchlings.”

“Chert and Riebeck wouldn’t stay home even if we tried to make them.” Hornfels says, placing their hand gingerly on Gossan’s back. “Slate won’t want to stop making ships. The hatchlings that want to fly are going to find a way, just like Feldspar did.”

Gossan plants the heels of their palms against their lower eyes and groans. “So what do we do? How do we watch them go, if we’re going to lose them?”

“They aren’t dead yet, Gos.”

“All the more reason not to let them kill themselves out there.” Gossan mumbles.

Hornfels shakes their head. “I don’t think that’s our choice to make. I wish it could be, but it isn’t. I’ll write up new safety guides, we’ll go over your training program, we’ll sit Slate down and talk about how to make the ships easier to find if something goes wrong. Make sure they know we don’t blame them, just… well, you understand. We’ll prepare the hatchlings the best we can figure out how, because it’s all we can do.”

Gossan heaves a sigh. The anger they feel pools like bile in their stomach, but Hornfels’ patience is at least enough to temper it for now. “I suppose I can think of some ways to make things better. Put Chert and Riebeck through a few extra training programs and get their feedback on the changes.”

“There you go.” Hornfels says. They lean back against the wall, closing their eyes. “Get out of here, Gos. Go see Porphy. Breathe a bit. Staying cooped up in here alone isn’t going to help either of us. You know I’ll come find you right away if there’s news.”

Gossan considers arguing. It might feel good in the moment, but it won’t change anything, because Hornfels is absolutely right. And, as much as they don’t want to admit it, they do want to see Porphy again. They push themself up, stretching. “Fine. Don’t mess with my stuff.”

“Get out, Gossan, or I’m going to chase you out myself.”

Gossan lifts their hands in surrender, walking down the steps and out through the museum door.

The night air is cool, the sort of atmosphere that Gossan might’ve considered refreshing if they were in any mood to be refreshed. Instead, the chill turns bitter against their scales, and they pull their scarf a little tighter around their neck. The stars above them hold none of their normal comfort, each one an icy reminder of what they’ve lost. They try not to look up at them, sliding their hands into their pockets as they walk through the village.

It’s a small mercy, they figure, that the village is very quiet this late at night. They wander down into the crater, meandering in the general direction of Porphy’s cabin. Maybe, they think, they’ll steal away to their old ship and take it on a few orbits, because flight has always cleared their mind even when it’s this heavy. Sure, it’s grounded for repairs ever since Gabbro clipped a tree on their last landing run, and yes, the thought has been eating them alive because they haven’t been able to get up into the black and hunt for their friend. But maybe it won’t hurt to fly it if they barely break atmosphere.

They don’t even notice Porphy coming off their porch, focused on the launchpad and trying to decide if they’d rather be atop it or be burning it down. They don’t notice until Porphy’s gently touching their hand, which gets a sharp gasp out of them as they turn to look at their lover.

“Hey.” Porphy says, ears low. “Sorry. You looked pretty out of it.”

Gossan’s eyes lock on Porphy’s. The normally jovial winemaker, apothecary, and best chef of the village has an expression that Gossan has never seen on their face before. The way their brows knit in concern, the sadness in their eyes, it all makes their heart ache almost as badly as Feldspar’s disappearance has. “Sorry, Porph. Lot on my mind.”

“I imagine so.” Porphy says. They smile a little. “Come on. I’ve got a bottle of sap wine and some fried fish I’ll trade for your thoughts.”

“You’ll regret it, they’re worth maybe a single mug of the wine.” Gossan grumbles, but they follow Porphy into their cabin anyway.

Porphy shrugs, leading Gossan around their counter and into the back where they actually live. “Call it a bribe, then.”

Porphy’s home is warm and inviting. A plate of fish sits on the counter next to their cooking stove, made sometime in the last five minutes, and across from the kitchen’s dining area is a sitting room lined with casks of sap wine. The bedroom is in the back. Gossan knows the bed is big enough for two, and maybe someday they’ll be brave enough to share it.

Today is not that day, for more reasons than there are pinpricks of deadly light in the sky.

“Sit, Gos. I’ll pour you a mug.” Porphy says, hooking a chair with one foot to slide it out from their table. Gossan hesitates and Porphy grips their shoulders, pushing them down into the seat sternly. “Sit.”

“I- oh, Hearth’s sake, Porphy, I was about to.” Gossan grumbles, but there’s no real anger in it and Porphy can tell. This is hardly the first time that the founder has met them late at night, and hardly the first time they forced Gossan to take a seat at their table for a decent meal.

Porphy shakes their head, retrieving the fish and the promised wine. The bottle is one of their finest, one they’d specifically started working on in order to welcome Feldspar back. This feels like just as good a use of it. They sit down and pour two mugs, then sigh. “You look like the void itself chewed on you, Gossan. When was the last time you slept in your own bed?”

Gossan grunts around a mouthful of fish, avoiding Porphy’s eyes. They buy time by chewing, but Porphy doesn’t give up that easily and Gossan knows they never have.

“Two weeks ago.” They finally admit. “Someone has to keep an eye on the radio.”

“Stars above, Gossan, I’m going to tell Hornfels to lock you out of the Observatory.” Porphy says, ignoring the way the comment makes Gossan glower. “Do you know how many hatchlings have come by asking if you disappeared too?”

Gossan almost chokes on a bite of fish. “What?”

“Hal was here asking if I’d seen you just earlier today, even. Alone. I have no idea where their friend’s gone off to. Turns out everyone’s noticed you not showing your face in the sun for the last month.” Porphy swirls the wine in their mug. “And everyone’s worried, Gos. Not just me, although I’m probably worried the most.”

Gossan busies their mouth with a swig of wine, then rubs their face. “Why don’t they go talk to Rutile, or Esker, or one of th’other people who’s actually got their head on the Hearth instead?”

“They’re fine enough. But they aren’t you.” Porphy sips their wine slower than Gossan, watching Gossan’s eyes. “Feldspar’s a hero, but when they aren’t around you’re the one who carries them to Gneiss when they get hurt, or sits and reads to them around the fire. You’re the one who chooses to stay here for them, to train the astronauts. Are you really surprised?”

“Yes.” Gossan says, plainly, before stuffing another bite of fish into their mouth.

Porphy snorts, shaking their head. “You’re impossible, you know that? Half the village would fall to pieces without you holding it together some days. I know you don’t have half the ego Feldspar did- does- but every so often I do wish you’d take the time to realize how much people like you.”

Gossan pinches the skin between their eyes. They’ve heard this before from Porphy, and it never has stuck. The idea is alien to them, that their efforts to be kind to the hatchlings are worth anything more than the occasional smile from them. “I barely know what the point of all our work has been. M’not the kind of person they should talk to right now.”

“Yes you are.” Porphy says, setting their mug down and leaning forward. “I know you’re hurting, because we’re all hurting, and I can’t imagine how much worse it is for you, knowing how close you two were. You can sit in here and mourn with me all you need to tonight, and I’ll listen, and we’ll drink to them. You can stay for the hangover tomorrow, and hopefully it’ll hurt less than being alone up in the observatory has been. But those hatchlings need you. Gabbro needs their coach.”

Gossan deflates. They know the tone in Porphy’s voice, the tone that says ‘I love you, but you’re a void-brained idiot sometimes’. They know it all too well, and every time it comes out, Porphy has been absolutely right, and they’ve had to admit it, even if it upsets them. “Stars, I hate arguing with you.”

“Because every time you decide to, you pick something where I’m right.” Porphy smirks. “Anyway, does that mean you’ll listen to me?”

“‘Course it does, but only for the sap wine.” Gossan says, offering a weak smile. “The fish is nice, too.”

“Sure, sure.”

Chapter Text

Gossan and Porphy wind up polishing off the entire bottle of sap wine and half of another, talking about Feldspar, about the hatchlings, about how much it hurts. About the impossibility of it. About how angry Gossan is, at everything, and Porphy simply listens and nods and lets them rant. It’s been tomorrow for three hours by the time the pair finally get up from the table, and as fragile as things are, it’s nicer that Gossan doesn’t have to walk back to their empty cabin. They stay the night.

They’ve stayed the night at Porphy’s home before. It’s not that new. They wake to the lazy afternoon sun filtering through the window, and it takes them a full five seconds to even begin to process what’s new about this time.

Their foggy, hung-over brain aches, but even it wakes up awfully quickly upon the realization that the warm scales they’re tenderly holding to their chest belong to Porphy’s back. Oh, stars above, that’s- that’s actually quite nice. Nice enough that their head hurts a little less just from the comfort of it. Porphy smells like sap wine and pinewood barrels, and Gossan hasn’t ever had the chance to appreciate just how nice that is quite like this before. It’s certainly helping their stomach stay settled.

They try to make their brain work enough to figure out if this is anything more than sleeping in the same bed. They can’t really quite remember, but they realize it’s highly unlikely when they process that they’re both still wearing their pants. Probably for the best, as much as the idea of crossing that line makes the part of them that isn’t dull grief spark alive with nervous excitement. They don’t know if the pair of them will ever get that far, but they’d like to remember every second clearly.

It’s hard for them to tell if Porphy’s actually awake or not. The other Hearthian has always been a heavy sleeper, but they’re also exactly the type to let Gossan sleep in and do nothing to wake them.

So Gossan leans forward to kiss the back of their neck, and they’re rewarded by a quiet murmur. Porphy’s still asleep. That’s fine by them. They’d rather not have to leave the house until the sun is down anyway, for multiple reasons, not least among them the way their eyes sting against the light.

It really was good sap wine, they think, and they hope that if Feldspar can see them, they appreciate that Gossan went and crashed in a completely different way in their memory. It’s enough to silence the guilt over not being at the radio, at least temporarily. Gossan’s never really thought about what happens to a Hearthian when they die, but they’re sure whatever it is Feldspar won’t hesitate to go looking for trouble in it.

It’s almost enough to make them smile, though they feel their eyes getting damp again. They swear they cried enough for the whole Venture the night before, but somehow there are still tears waiting to fall, and they hope Feldspar can’t see that. Otherwise, when they finally see each other again, they’re in for it- and Gossan bitterly reiterates to themself that, even if Feldspar is somehow dead, it’s a when, not an if. Even if they have to wrestle past the ghosts of the Nomai to do it, they’ll find a way. Their best friend cannot be gone, not in the one way that would matter more than any other.

They close their eyes and focus on Porphy’s breathing, instead. They haven’t lost everything, and thank the Hearth for that, because without Porphy they would’ve already done something tremendously stupid to try to get into space and look. Then Hornfels would have to figure out what to do with two Founders gone, and nobody deserves that.

Gossan lets themself doze until they feel Porphy finally stir, and they kiss the back of their love’s neck again gently, earning a small “Mm?” noise that makes them feel a little more alive again.

Porphy takes a moment to run their hands along the arms folded over their stomach, then smiles, eyes open slightly to see the sunlight in the room. “Gossan?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re in my bed. When did that happen?”

Now Gossan’s smiling again, too, and they press their forehead against the back of Porphy’s head. “Ain’t got a clue. Are you kicking me out?”

Porphy places their arms over Gossan’s, and they settle back into the other Hearthian’s chest. “No. Never. Just surprised you finally let me lay with you.”

“Mhm. Surprised m’self with this one. You really did give me the good stuff last night.” Gossan squeezes gently, mindful that Porphy- although they had significantly less of the wine than Gossan did- may also be hung over.

“Only the best for you, always.” Porphy sighs. “How’s the hangover?”

“Eh. ‘ve had worse for worse reasons.”

“Scale of one to ten, Gos.” Porphy’s voice is tinged with that gentle sternness that Gossan knows not to test.

So they relent. “Five. Stay with me in bed?”

“Tell you what.” Porphy closes their eyes again. “I’ll give you a little longer if you promise to go talk to those hatchlings tomorrow.”

Gossan sighs. “Y’don’t have to be such a cruel bargainer, Porph.”

“One day you’ll figure out I’ve been going easy on you.” Porphy smirks. “Make a choice or I’m going to get up and start fixing us something greasy.”

“Fine, fine. Deal.” Gossan grumbles into Porphy’s neck. “Problem with lovin’ you is that y’know me too well.”

“Someone who isn’t one of you astronauts has to know what you’re like when you aren’t trying to be Gossan the Founder.” Porphy says, before yawning. “Lucky for both of us that it was me.”

“Luckier’n I reckon I deserve.” Gossan says, before they echo the yawn reflexively.

“Mm. Nah. You’re not half as lucky as you deserve, but at least you get me.” Porphy pats Gossan’s arm once. “You’ll have to make do with that.”

“I figure I can do that.” Gossan’s voice drops to just above a whisper. “Don’t you ever disappear on me too.”

Porphy sighs, letting heir arms rest on Gossan’s again. “Of course. You better not disappear either.”

“Never.”

It’s evening by the time the pair manage to get up. Porphy cooks some shredded root vegetables into a crispy hash, and between that and some tea and water, what’s left of Gossan’s hangover passes quickly. At no point does Porphy ask them how they’re feeling, emotionally, and it’s just another part of why Gossan loves them, because Porphy doesn’t need to ask how Gossan is holding up. They see the little things in the way they talk and move and breathe that answer the question more honestly than words ever could.

In truth, Gossan isn’t sure they could even construct an answer that wouldn’t feel like they were making some part of it up, not yet. They’re not okay, but they’re a damn sight better than they were the night before. Holding Porphy like that, being that close, it’s given them warmth in that cold dark numbness. It’s soothed the poison burn of their anger, at least enough that they have other thoughts again, and they’re pretty sure that their mood is as good as it’s possible for it to get for the moment.

As little as they want to leave, they know there are things they have to do. They need to get back home, at least for a while. Sort through the things that have no doubt piled up on their desk since this all started. Force themself to make plans. Try to figure out what to say to Slate, in particular. It won’t be easy to talk to them, because they know Slate will be blaming themself for what happened, and they’re not sure they can stop themself from wondering if this was, in fact, the result of Slate’s infamous disregard for safety.

They reluctantly get their shirt and helmet back on, and give Porphy one last tight hug, kissing them deeply.

When they finally let go, Porphy smiles sadly, putting a hand on Gossan’s cheek. “You can do this. I know you can. But if it gets to be too much again, I’m right here waiting for you.”

“I know.” Gossan says, reaching up to hold that hand for a moment. “But… still helps to hear it. I love you, Porphy.”

“I love you, Gossan.”

They wrap their scarf around their neck, tying it just so, and step back out into the night air.

Timber Hearth’s crater is as quiet as it ever gets. In the distance, a geyser blasts water into the air, loud enough to echo off the rocks. Sounds like it got to be a bit over-pressure. Nothing to worry about, really, but they’ll get someone to check for any debris buildup anyway. They’re not sure they can take it, if it winds up hurting someone.

It already hurts their heart a bit, remembering how Feldspar rode an over-pressure geyser into orbit when they were hatchlings. Their injuries had been horrendous, but they’d never stopped talking about how much they wanted to go back. Maybe Gossan should’ve known then that Feldspar was already lost to the stars, that following them meant watching them disappear.

Maybe, they briefly think, it would’ve been better never to help them go in the first place. But they know better immediately. They could never have held Feldspar back like that. It would’ve been like trying to douse the sun for fear of its one-day supernova. Feldspar was born with the stars in their blood, and no mere mortal Hearthian could ever have kept them apart.

Gossan looks up at the side of the crater where the inactive ships are kept. There’s their own ship, held up by a makeshift front landing strut, the cockpit glass removed for repairs. Next to it is the alloy frame that will eventually be Gabbro’s, a few months down the line. They can vaguely see welding sparks. Slate’s up late tonight. They hope the shipwright got at least a few hours of sleep.

Their thoughts trail into confusion. Something’s falling from the sky. Not very big, maybe the satellite with the camera deorbited for some reason? No, it’s not quite reentering, there’s no plasma glow. It’s coming down toward the trees they stand near, in fact.

It’s Hearthian-shaped.

Gossan’s heart leaps into their throat. What happened? Who could possibly be falling from such a ridiculous height? They’re too small to be one of the astronauts- maybe Chert, but Chert already radioed in for the night from Giant’s Deep where they’d stopped off to collect a weather probe. And the figure doesn’t appear to have a suit on. A hatchling? Oh, no. The geyser. Oh, please no, they think, as the rest of the world falls away, and all they can see is the arc the body is taking.

Gossan’s running for the tree before the impact even happens.

The hatchling hits it going fast enough that Gossan’s sure they’re broken in half. They drop free a second later, and the Founder is there underneath to catch them, dropping to their knees and setting the small figure down into the grass, trying to ignore the way their leg is bent, because they’re absolutely certain it’s the least of the hatchling’s worries right now. That face is familiar.

Sanidine. 

“Fuck.” Gossan swears, before pulling their pocket knife and starting to cut the hatchilng’s shirt away. Their chest is still moving, which at least means they’re trying to breathe, even if it’s labored. There’s blood on Gossan’s hands already, and it only takes a second to identify the cause- one of the tree’s branches has pierced straight through Sanidine’s left side. It’s impossible to tell from a glance if it’s caught the bottom of their lung, but it’s definitely bad.

They lean back and take in the injuries they can see. There are bruises and cuts all over their body and a few on their face, fresh and angry purple. Their right arm looks entirely too limp. That right shin is definitely broken. There’s something bleeding under the hatchling’s pant leg, and Gossan wonders if the bone broke skin or not.

Gossan sucks air through their teeth. Right. Figure out what to do. If the hatchling has hurt their neck or their spine, moving them is dangerous. But the windows in all the nearby houses are dark- there’s no real guarantee help will get to them with any speed.

They slowly slide their arms under Sanidine, cradling their neck and head as best they can. Then they start to lift, and Sanidine explodes into a brief scream, and Gossan flinches and tries to focus past it. Finish the lift, get moving toward Gneiss’s clinic.

“Sani. Sanidine. S’Gossan. Can you hear me?” They say once the hatchling’s screaming stops, unable to keep themself from sounding scared. They’re terrified, in fact. This can’t be happening. What was Sanidine even doing near a geyser like that? The hatchling would never do anything that would compromise their ability to see the stars, they’re sure of it, because just like Feldspar they’re sure Sanidine was born with that starfire burning their blood. And now they’re here, broken and bleeding, and Gossan can’t do this, they can’t lose someone else, not yet, please.

Sanidine coughs, letting out a wet little whine, and they manage to open their eyes briefly. Pupils are different sizes. Concussion, no question, and a miracle if it’s not something more. “Guh. Gahss’n?” They stammer.

“I’ve got you, hatchling.” Gossan says, ignoring the faces staring from doorways and windows now. They have every right to want to know why a hatchling was screaming in the dead of night. Gossan just has no interest in stopping to explain things. “We’re going to Gneiss. You’re going to be just fine.”

Sanidine coughs again, and Gossan tries not to wonder about the origin of it, tries not to think about the branch still impaled through the hatchling’s body.

“Wasn’. Eh. Expectin’ to. Way, wake uuup.” They mumble, slurring half the words.

Gossan manages not to clutch them tighter. What. “Nasty fall. You trip into a geyser? C’mon. Stay with me, keep talking.”

“Mnh.” Sanidine manages. “Juh. Jump’d’n.”

No, what? That can’t be right. Sanidine can be impulsive, but they’re no idiot. They would know the geyser is over-pressure immediately. And the way they say it, like it’s not the reason they’re fighting for their life in Gossan’s arms right now. What?

“Hhaaahh.” Sanidine groans out something that sounds almost resigned. It doesn’t fit the somewhat shy, earnest hatchling at all. “Didn’, wasn, wan. Wanna wuh-wake up.”

Gossan wants to scream. They have to be delusional from the pain, the concussion, something. Why would Sanidine, of all the hatchlings, be saying this?

Unless.

Unless, they realize, with a creeping dread that threatens to swallow them whole, it’s the same reason they themself were vaguely hoping they wouldn’t wake up not even a week ago. The stars look so cold; there is no warmth of joy in those daggers, waiting to cut away life and love from those foolish enough to explore them. If Gossan could feel this way after Feldspar’s disappearance, then is it really such a surprise that one of the hatchlings who idolized the explorer so wholeheartedly could fall into the same thoughts?

They’re not sure Sanidine will remember any of this, if they live, but the way those words sound coming out of such a young mouth makes Gossan’s blood freeze solid in their veins. They shake their head, wishing they had even a fraction of the words they feel like they need, and throw their shoulder into Gneiss’ clinic door.

“GNEISS!” They roar, pushing past the clinic’s front furniture and heading for one of the beds they use for operating.

The sun is up before either they or the doctor see the outside world again.

Chapter Text

Gossan leaves Sanidine’s side only once Hornfels arrives to keep an eye on things. Gneiss is there, and they’ve let the doctor take first break once the hatchling’s in stable enough condition. The pair will be okay without Gossan for at least a little bit, or so they assure their friend, and they insist that Gossan at least goes and eats something after the night they’ve had.

At first, Gossan simply sits outside with their head in their hands and tries to breathe. The knowledge of what happened, of what Sanidine said, burns in their heart like a toxin. They haven’t been able to bring themself to share those words with Gneiss or Hornfels. They cling to the memory of the starry-eyed hatchling watching them prepare their ship for one of Gabbro’s training flights, the look of wonder on their face when they spoke about the stars and the enigmatic Nomai they’d been reading stories about.

They had been excited on a level Gossan hadn’t seen since the Venture had first started, when those stars danced in Feldspar’s eyes. Their fingers clench against their forehead. Of course Sanidine was devastated. Every hatchling on the Hearth knew Feldspar, idolized Feldspar, but none were ever as obsessed as Sanidine had been with meeting and then surpassing the legacy their friend had built.

Gossan wants to tear themself to pieces for not realizing it sooner. They know, of course they know, that they needed to grieve in their own time, that blaming themself isn’t going to fix anything. It doesn’t make the pain in their heart any less real. Knowing it’s what Porphy would tell them doesn’t make it feel less like an excuse. A hatchling- the hatchling they were hoping to mentor- nearly died, they’re unconscious and broken and it’s impossible not to wonder if they would’ve been able to stop this if they had simply stopped hiding sooner.

Hornfels and Gneiss won’t even let them back inside, they know. And they made a promise to Porphy, terror over Sanidine’s condition or no. They get to their feet and start for their home, though they long for the simple comfort they’d had in Porphy’s bed. That brief moment of respite before the universe saw fit to hit them in the gut and steal the air from their lungs once again.

A few groups of hatchlings catch sight of them and wave, and they force themself to wave back as though they aren’t in a daze. No point worrying them more than they already might’ve been, based on what Porphy said. They allow themself to feel a little wave of relief as they reach their home, and they retrieve a small bundle of notes from their mailbox before stepping inside.

Inside, their office has clearly paid host to multiple visitors while they’ve been away. They take heart at the bundle as they flip through it, messages of concern and support from hatchlings and adults alike. It’s almost enough to make them miss the thing dominating the center of their desk.

They drop the notes once they process its presence, and lift the flight jacket with trembling hands. This is Gabbro’s, their name is embroidered on it, unmistakably the same jacket they gave them when they joined the training program. Why is it neatly folded on their desk?

Their investigating finds a piece of paper stuffed into the left pocket. They unfold it with shaking hands, head spinning. No, come on, not more bad news. Please. They’re already about to buckle from the strain. And yet, Gabbro’s handwriting is unmistakable in its flowing, curving lines.

Gossan,

I apologize. I’ve decided to withdraw from the space program. As a result, I’m returning your jacket.

Gabbro

What in Hearth’s name do they mean, leaving the space program!? Why is the letter so short? Like Sanidine, Gabbro has never been easy to get to open up, but to simply say they’re withdrawing like this is unlike them. They crumple it in their hands and hunch forward, trying to keep themself from screaming out their despair and fear in a way that the entire area would hear.

Breathe. Stars above, breathe. They have to, they can’t let this destroy them the way it threatens to, for Sanidine’s sake, for Porphy’s. They just need the floor to stop feeling like it’s about to crumble under their feet, please, if there is any kindness out there, they need to be able to handle this.

Their mind races over names and options, trying to think of where they might start looking for their student.

If it were only so easy to find them when something’s wrong. They know, in theory, where Gabbro lives, even if the chances they’re at home are vanishingly small. Maybe one of the other older hatchlings that live in the same building will be able to point them in the right direction, or at least give them a clue as to what their wayward student is thinking. They shove the letter roughly into their own flight jacket’s pocket and head for one of the many communal homes located on the other side of the crater.

They nearly slam into Hal halfway there. Hal, who has an expression of utter terror on their face. Oh, no. Had they heard already?

“Gossan!” Hal yelps, then throws their arms around the astronaut like grabbing a life preserver in a storm. “Sanidine, I- someone said- is it- are they?”

Gossan’s own feelings slide into the background, a muted presence against Hal’s panic. They place their hand on Hal’s back, the other on Hal’s head. “Hey, easy, Hal. Easy. Sanidine’s goin' to be just fine. I took them to Gneiss myself.”

“Thank the stars and Hearth.” Hal breathes, not lifting their face from Gossan’s jacket. “You- you were missing, and then they stopped talking to me a week ago and, I don’t know what’s going on with them, they weren’t eating right or anything. And now I- I heard something about a geyser, and a really bad fall, and…”

“They tripped into an overpressure.” Gossan says, as softly as they can. Poor Hal’s entire body jolts at that, and Gossan strokes their back gently. “They’re gonna be fine, Hal. Gneiss and Hornfels are with 'em at the clinic, and I was there all night. They’re a tough hatchling, you know that. I don’t know if Gneiss'll let anyone visit just yet, but if not you’ll be the first person to know as soon as they’re up to a guest, okay?”

By Hearth, they wish those words of reassurance didn’t taste like ash in their mouth. Sanidine would survive this- even if that awful puncture wound got infected somehow, Gneiss has them, and Gneiss will not let Sanidine be taken from them if they have to fight death itself to prevent it. But saying they’ll be fine feels so much like a lie it makes them hate themself a little bit more just to voice it, after the way Sanidine sounded the night before.

Hal doesn’t need to know that the flight coach has doubts. Hal doesn’t need to know that Sanidine had given up so completely that they were willing themself not to survive one of the most dangerous natural hazards on the planet outside Ghost Matter. Hal needs to believe that Sanidine will wake up and be fine, because otherwise Hal might surrender to despair as well, and that would break Gossan into enough pieces they might never put themself back together.

Hal nods, a quick, nervous thing. They finally release Gossan and step back, a queasy smile on their lips. “Okay. Okay, thank you, Gossan. Thank you. Thank you so much. I’m still gonna go, just in case.”

“Of course. If you do end up seein' Gneiss or Hornfels, tell them I’m headin' to meet with Gabbro.” Gossan nods. They want to maintain any kind of normalcy, so that Hal can be okay, because if Hal is okay then just maybe Sanidine will be too, and just maybe Gossan’s heart can stop being kicked around by fate.

The hatchling nods again. “Alright. Tell Gabbro I said hi, okay?”

“You know it, hatchling. Now get going, huh?” Gossan says.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m- stars, I think I’m gonna be sick if I don’t.” Hal says, before darting off toward the launchpad pavilion.

Gossan watches them go for a moment, then turns back to the task at hand, crossing their arms as though the cool breeze is a bitter wind to be braced against. They start walking again, and they hope Hal doesn’t have to see the way Sanidine’s bandages look just yet, because to have so many looks so unnatural on such a young Hearthian that even Hornfels hesitated when they first saw them.

They reach Gabbro’s home without incident. Unsurprisingly, their trainee isn’t there, though they take some degree of comfort in seeing that all of Gabbro’s belongings are still present. At least they didn’t run away with intent to stay, or destroy anything in a fit of uncharacteristic anger.

To say Gabbro doesn’t have many close friends would be to stretch the meaning of the words ‘many’ and ‘close’. Of the other hatchlings they’re willing to talk to, they seem to be the most open with Spinel, and Gossan doesn’t have to look far to find the other hatchling winding a fishing line in their own room.

According to Spinel, Gabbro had been withdrawn for the last two weeks, and that it was a noticeable change was bad business, they were sure. Everyone had been down since news spread about Feldspar, of course, but Gabbro hadn’t even tried to make the appointments they’d had for flight training, laying in their room and staring at the ceiling most of the day. Ultimately, they’d grabbed their jacket, their carving knife, and some wood, and disappeared without a word.

Not the most helpful thing Gossan’s ever heard. But it’s something, and Gossan thanks Spinel anyway, and Spinel assures them that if they hear anything they’ll pass it along. Gossan leaves without telling Spinel what made them worry so much, because saying it aloud will make it feel all the more urgent.

They head up to the edge of the crater and sit down on a rooftop to think. Gabbro doesn’t normally need to disappear if they aren’t in a talkative mood, and when they do, they usually leave some indicator of where they’re going. They wouldn’t stay in the crater, if they’re trying to avoid people. Even someone as quiet as Gabbro isn’t an exception to the natural Hearthian impulse to help someone in distress, and the letter in Gossan’s pocket is a clear sign of distress, they’re sure of it.

But where would they have gone? Timber Hearth isn’t a tiny planet, if such a thing could be considered to exist, and they wouldn’t walk all the way to one of the other settlements. No, Gabbro would want somewhere secluded, somewhere nobody else would be likely to go. They’d also want it to be at some measure of distance, but not so far away they wouldn’t be able to make it back within a handful of days.

They stand up. There’s one option that burns in their mind, a strange place that most people find unnerving. Gossan finds it unnerving too, but they remember a brief conversation on Gabbro’s last orbital practice, a conversation where an unusually candid Gabbro admitted they found the moving trees and strange rock peaceful.

They tear off around the crater’s edge, sprinting for Slate’s work area, unwilling to let someone break their focus by going back through the capitol. They can’t. If they’re right, they know where Gabbro is, and as much as Slate is going to hate this they know exactly how to get there quickly. And after Sanidine, quick is the order of the day. Gabbro might act steadier, but Gossan’s been allowed into a precious few of their more contemplative moments, and if Feldspar’s disappearance could paralyze half of the active Venture and drive Sanidine into a geyser, they know there’s only too high of a chance for that fragile young poet to crack under it as well.

They arrive at Slate’s workshop in under an hour, winded but no less determined. A new personal record, they’d figure, if they were willing to let their mind wander at all. Slate startles when they come skidding to a stop, but Gossan shakes their head and holds up a hand, and that buys them time to gulp air and recover enough to talk.

“I need my ship. Staying atmospheric. No arguing.” They rattle off, one hand already on the open cockpit. Slate stammers something incoherent as they clamber inside, pulling themself over the control console to drop into the seat.

“Are you out of your- Gossan! Just because it can take off doesn’t mean it should!” Slate yells over the sound of the reactor thrumming to life.

Gossan’s barely thinking, letting muscle memory guide their hands. They finish their preflight, then nod to Slate. “I know. Trust me, Slate. I'd rather be wrong, but I think it's an emergency.”

“You- how bad?” Slate asks, faltering.

Gossan’s jaw works for a moment, and their eyes soften. “Don’t know for sure. But worst case, I… we can’t lose Gabbro too, Slate. Step back so I can launch.”

Slate’s eyes widen, and they hop back away from the ship’s thrusters. “Void take me. Fine. Fine. But you both better come home intact, for all our sakes.”

“I intend to.” Gossan nods, then they fire up the engine and launch, applying just enough thrust to get them into the air. Slate’s ships are masterpieces of rocket engineering and ingenuity, but they were never meant to fly unfinished, and the air pulls jealously at the exposed interior, forcing the ship’s engines to roar even just to keep moving forward. The noise is oppressive, and Gossan grabs their radio headset with their throttle hand, tuning to the OWV frequency.

“Esker. Receivin' me?”

“Gossan? You stars-dazzled fool, that’s you I just saw take off in a broken ship?” Esker growls. It’s not their usual honey-rich tone, welcoming and kind. This anger is familiar enough to Gossan, because they’ve been subject to it before alongside Feldspar, the anger of a protective older sibling watching their younger siblings make potentially fatal mistakes.

“I’m not leavin' atmosphere. Save the lecture, I need you to tell me if you’ve seen Gabbro at all recently.” Gossan says, fully aware Esker just might chew them out anyway for their recklessness. But if they’re going to, they’ll do it later, and it’ll be worth every second if it helps Gossan find their missing trainee.

“Gabbro, huh? Hm.” Esker mutters something too quietly for the mic to pick up clearly, then makes a concerned grunting noise. “I saw them heading for that moving grove just before it orbited out of my sight, actually. Figured they were probably just upset about Feldspar. You think it’s something more?”

“Don’t know yet.” Gossan says, angling their ship along the correct heading and gunning the main engines. “But I’m not losin' someone else. I can’t, Esker.”

Esker pauses for a moment, then sighs. “I understand. Radio me when you have a spare minute, Gos. We need to talk, as friends, not as astronauts.”

“I… I think I’d like that. If I manage t'survive all of this without losin' my mind even more than I already did, I’ll take you up on it.” Gossan replies. “Engines are burnin' pretty loud. I’m gonna cut my radio for now.”

“Don’t get too busy saving people and lose yourself, Gos.” Esker cautions. “I’ll talk to you when you’re back home.”

“Mhm. Thank you, Esker.” Gossan says, before switching their radio off and hanging the headset back on its hook. The wind buffets them, but they fly steady and lock their eyes on the horizon, because if they lose someone else then they’re certain they won't survive it.

Chapter Text

Gossan, like most Hearthians, finds the grove to be unsettling at best.

Isolated from the rest of Timber Hearth by a shallow crater, the grove is host to Timber Hearth’s other mysterious traveling rock, this one originating far enough away that it was determined to be too much effort to try to capture it to join its friend in the museum. It’s about a fifth of the way to the second-largest settlement on the Hearth, at least a day’s walk at a brisk pace, and surrounded by distinctly un-wandering signs that are checked by Tree Keepers once a season. It’s too easy to lose someone in a shaded forest that doesn’t stay put otherwise.

They find a clear spot just outside of the crater to set down, just barely large enough for their ship. It creaks as it meets dirt, then rocks forward to rest its broken nose gear against the grass while the engines’ whine fades.

It’ll survive. Gossan pats the ship’s console apologetically, then smacks the harness release and leaps free of the ship, sprinting into the grove as though they can outrun the dread that’s chasing at their heels. They have to find Gabbro, in this confusing mess of trees and rocks. They have to- they refuse to consider what might happen if they don’t.

They briefly curse that they didn’t think to bring their signalscope from the cockpit. That chunk of mysterious rock always gives off the most ethereal noise, and Gabbro has expressed such an admiration for its odd color and pockmarked surface. The shard moves, because of course it does, but damned if Gabbro might not be holding it still somewhere.

Gossan’s heart feels like it’s going to tear free of their chest, it’s pounding so hard. Trees dance before them, an infuriating ever-shifting wall of should-be timber, and Gossan finally lets out an angry yell when the same tree makes its smug appearance directly in their path for the third time in a row.

They don’t have time for this, and they wish the universe would get the hell out of their way, would stop trying so hard to take the things they hold dear. They blink away tears.

Gabbro, slumped against a tree, dark blood pooling around their legs, their whittling knife held loosely in one hand. It’s pressed against their arm, preparing to add yet another wound, but they’re clearly unable to hold it right anymore and their eyes look glassy, unseeing.

Oh, no. Oh, no no no.

Gossan sprints to the hatchling and slides onto their knees in front of them, snatching the knife and throwing it into the dirt before tearing their jacket off. They place their hands on Gabbro’s head and hold their gaze steady, looking into those orange eyes for some sign of real awareness. Please. Not like this. Not this. Never this, please. “Gabbro? Gabbro, hatchling, come on. Say something. Oh, Hearth, please say something, Gabbro-”

Gabbro’s brow creases, and there’s recognition through the fog they’re in. “Gossan? What’re- when did you get here?”

“Not as soon as I wanted to.” Gossan mutters, grabbing Gabbro’s right arm and starting to wrap their flight jacket around it tightly.

“Void-fuck.” Gabbro hisses, and Gossan doesn’t bother chastising them, instead pulling their own shirt off and ripping a strip clear. They tie it at the end of the improvised bandage that they couldn’t tie with the jacket’s sleeves, then another in the middle to adequately secure it.

“Gabbro,” Gossan says, and their voice is wavering. “D’you even know what you were doing?”

Gabbro’s mouth works for a moment, and Gossan only interrupts to start tying their shirt onto Gabbro’s other arm, trying not to think about how much of the hatchling’s blood is on the ground already. The founder doesn’t say a word, even as Gabbro hisses another curse at the pain of having their arm handled that way.

Gossan bites back the urge to snap at Gabbro that they can deal with it hurting, because it hurting means the limb isn’t completely ruined, and void take them they’re terrified of that right now.

Gabbro’s eyes are clear again, or at least, clear enough, focused on Gossan’s face. That spark of quiet joy and creativity isn’t there. It’s been replaced by a terrible fear, an exhaustion that Gossan last saw in the mirror when washing up at the clinic, and they wish they’d never had to see that look in someone else’s eyes.

Gabbro’s voice wavers. “Not really. Does it matter? Gossan, they- they’re-”

“Hey.” Gossan grunts. Their hands are stained with Gabbro’s blood, but it’s not enough to threaten their trainee’s life. They pull Gabbro close against them once the bleeding has been stemmed, trying not to think about how the hatchling had to be feeling inside to ask if it matters that they were carving their arms open, how Sanidine had to be to not want to wake up after seeing the upper atmosphere. “Hey. Breathe with me. Like I showed you and Riebeck, okay? You don’t have t’talk, stars, you don’t have t’even like me being here, but breathe.”

Gabbro is trembling, their whole body unable to stop shaking. Gabbro never showed fear like this, never showed their emotions like this. They were so good at hiding them that Gossan had to take over the mental screen from Hornfels, because for all that Hornfels cared, they absolutely could not pick up on what Gabbro was thinking, and Gossan could at least see the little twitches in their face and hands, pull at those until they got a straight enough answer.

Compared to the reserved artist they’d been training, the hatchling that curls against their chest is almost unrecognizable. Tears streak down Gabbro’s cheeks as they try to speak, fail, and choke on a sob. The breathing exercises that Gossan lifted from a conversation with Chert- a way to stay calm in a bad situation- don’t seem to be working at all.

The quiet, acidic rage that has been hollowing them out slowly flares back to life at the sight. They want to tear the sky apart until they find whatever force is responsible for this, for stealing Feldspar, for daring to lay a finger on Sanidine and Gabbro, for trying to take everything from Gossan as steadily as Tektite disassembling an old pine. They’re crying now, too, and they don’t try to stop, rocking Gabbro against their chest gently. The fact that the sun hasn’t yet set is something like mercy, blue sky shielding them against the cold tyranny of the stars above.

Gabbro’s still trying to find words, but nothing is coming. Gossan closes their eyes. The hatchling’s a little old for this to work, but maybe in a situation like this that isn’t going to matter, because they’re both so badly hurt inside that the rules fly out the window.

So they start to sing.

The Travelers’ Song has no words. It’s been a part of Hearthian culture since before the Hearthians had a name for themselves. A melody echoing in the dark. A simple promise. If you can hear this, it says, then you are not alone. 

It was Esker’s idea to adopt it as the Venture’s unofficial code. Gneiss, though not officially a part of the Venture, had volunteered even then to produce an instrument for each outgoing astronaut as soon as possible. With Esker, they painstakingly sit down and compose a part of the melody for each new player. After their first launch, Esker traditionally teaches the new astronaut their part on the Attlerock, and on the rare occasion they’re all together the pieces twist and combine into the most beautiful arrangement. Gossan hopes it never stops evolving, even long after the founders are all gone.

Tadpoles learn it by heart as they grow, simply from hearing it as a lullaby. Every Hearthian that has ever been a Hearthian has known the song, somewhere in their heart, and whether or not they have the same reverence for it that the astronauts do they carry it with them wherever they go. For Gabbro, there’s a wooden flute mostly-finished in Gneiss’ workshop. It’s a simple design with a hidden depth to its sound, a versatile instrument that fits Gabbro’s personality so well. Gossan refuses to imagine a world where Gabbro never receives it.

Gossan sings, wordless notes echoing in the glade, holding Gabbro and never taking their eyes off of them. Their voice is raw from emotion, but they still manage to keep their pitch. Porphy once said that their singing voice was like honey wine, sweet and rich and deeper than you expect, and ever since then they’d added Porphy to the short list of people they were willing to sing around, a list otherwise consisting of mostly tadpoles and hatchlings.

When Gabbro’s shaking finally slows, their sobs wracking their body with less intensity, only then does Gossan allow the song to fade.

“They’re gone.” Gabbro whispers, hoarse and tired and angry. “They’re gone and nobody knows what happened, nobody will ever find them, and Chert and Riebeck and Esker are next, because we were stupid enough to look up. They’re not stars they’re, they’re hooks, fishing lures to steal people like F-Feldspar away.”

Gossan lets the words echo through them, tracing a circle into Gabbro’s back as gently as they know how. It’d be funny how familiar these thoughts sound, if they weren’t so horrifying. And yet, guiltily, there’s a part of them that feels relief. Slate, Hornfels, Esker, Gneiss, even Porphy. None of them seemed to quite understand the hollowness that the sky held, the way its promise had been twisted.

“I know.” Gossan finally says, and Gabbro startles and meets their eyes. “They feel like knives. Hangin’ steel in space, waiting to cut the tether and send ‘em drifting. And nobody else sees it.”

Gabbro mumbles wetly, then buries their face into Gossan again and nods without a word.

“Worst part, they don’t stop shinin’. Planets keep turnin’. It makes me want to scream.” Gossan says, and the admission feels like a cold wave of relief. They didn’t tell Porphy this part. They were too ashamed of themself. “How dare they not know what they did. What they took. They should be hurtin’ just as bad as we are, and they ain’t, and it hurts even more ‘cause of it.”

Gabbro’s breath hitches in their throat when they try to speak, and Gossan manages not to flinch at the hhk noise the hatchling makes. They swallow, looking up at their flight coach with eyes that are a little less lost, and try again. “What’s the point of all of it, Gossan?”

If that ain’t the heaviest question in the universe. If Gabbro were anyone else, anywhere else, Gossan might’ve come up with something that sounded good, or at least sounded gentle. But they know for a fact that neither of them need a gentle lie right now.

“I wish I knew.” Gossan says, and simply saying it is like letting go of a breath that was burning in their lungs. “I used t’think I did. That it was there for us to explore, like my best friend led us to. And then it took them from us, just like that, and now it hurts to even look up.”

Gabbro’s grip tightens on Gossan’s back scales. Good, their arms aren’t completely numb. “I hate it. Nothing tastes good or feels good anymore. It’s all,” the hatchling takes a shuddering breath. “It’s all ugly, disgusting, cold. I hate it so much.”

For someone who was so sure their heart couldn’t break again today, Gossan’s heart shatters with violent force. Gabbro was always withdrawn, always had their nose in a book on art or poetry, always preferred the company of the moving rock or the wind to the company of other Hearthians. But when they did let Gossan in, in brief and all too rare moments, they spoke with a quiet and firm passion about the beauty they saw in every single thing around them. They’d recently taken thirty minutes to describe to their flight coach the exact way the Attlerock’s stone looked when the sun was just barely kissing it, and how incredibly lucky they felt to see it happen.

Gossan had walked away from that training flight with their eyes on the moon, and even after all of the turmoil Feldspar’s disappearance has caused, they aren’t sure they’ll ever see its pale face as dull again.

“I know.” They finally say. “I hate it too. It makes me so angry at everything, I feel sick.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Gabbro mumbles.

Gossan sighs, glancing back toward the rock shard that has been so impassively watching over them from its various perches. “Keep trying. That’s what Porphy seemed t’think, when I saw them last night. We pull ourselves together, and we keep trying, because even if we’re angry at it all, life keeps moving. And if it’s hard, we do it for the people around us.”

Gabbro’s hands clench against Gossan again. The hatchling has an unreadable expression when they finally look up at the founder.

“Is that why you came here?” They ask, slowly.

“Partly, I suppose.” Gossan shakes their head. “But, also, I was terrified of losing you.”

Gabbro’s mouth quirks. “Why?”

“I found your note.” Gossan says, and they’re about to elaborate when they see the way Gabbro shakes their head.

Gabbro fixes Gossan with an intense stare. Gossan’s sure it can see straight through to the other side of them. “No, why were you afraid of, the other thing.”

Gossan frowns. “Of losing you?”

“Mm.”

The founder’s heart sinks. What kind of question is that? “Given how much blood you were losing, I think I was right to be.”

“But why not stay with Porphy, or whatever you were doing before?” Gabbro asks, quietly. “I’m just. You know. Gabbro.”

The words make bile rise in the back of Gossan’s throat. They thought they’d managed to convince people to stop saying things like that. Clearly, it didn’t work, or maybe the damage had been done long before Gossan realized it was happening at all.

“Stop that.” The founder says, placing a hand on the back of Gabbro’s head. “Who’s been saying that this time?”

“Everyone. Why? They’re right.” Gabbro mutters.

Gossan resists the impulse to shake that thought out of Gabbro’s head, and instead squeezes the hatchling gently against their chest. “Not everyone. And they ain’t right. I wish you’d told me this was still happening.”

Gabbro grunts, but says nothing.

“D’you remember on your first orbital flight?” Gossan asks, quietly. “When you looked at the Attlerock, and you told me everything you saw in just that one bare patch of it, right as the sun was rising?”

“Sure.”

“Nobody saw that the way you did. You showed me somethin’ new about the Attlerock on your very first time seeing it from space. I might not always get it, hatchling, but I always want t’listen. Because you’re Gabbro. Because you see the universe in a way I don’t. The only artist I ever met who wanted t’fly like us. I’ll be damned and adrift before I let those knives cut you free too. And one day we’ll both look at them and they’ll be stars again. I’m not th’ one to know when, but I know we will.”

Gabbro stares at their mentor, ears back. For a long moment, Gossan wonders if they’ve said the right thing. It doesn’t ultimately matter, they know, because there was nothing else they could’ve said; Gabbro’s the kind of sharp hatchling that can tell when they’re hearing the truth, and always has been, and they’ve always tried to give it to them.

Then they let out a quiet sob and plant their head against Gossan again. “Okay. Okay, I. I’ll try to get there, as long as you’re trying too. Deal?”

“Deal, hatchling.” Gossan nods. “Thank you for listenin’ to me. We’ll go home when you’re ready, and not a minute before.”

Chapter Text

True to their word, Gossan doesn’t bring Gabbro back until mid-afternoon. The pair manage to catch a nap in the meantime, which Gossan figures they both needed, although they do use the first aid kit from the ship to disinfect their student’s wounds first.

“Stars above, Gos, what happened to them?” Hornfels asks, while Gneiss is gingerly peeling the makeshift bandages from Gabbro’s arms. Gabbro manages to peer past the doctor to give Gossan an anxious look, and Gossan crosses their arms.

“Near as I can tell, they tripped at the top of the glade’s crater and got cut up by that rock they love so much.” Gossan says, carefully. “You know how its edges are. Sharper than some of the axes Slate puts together.”

Gabbro nearly gasps. Gossan is many things to many people, and they learned a while back not to underestimate their flight coach. But a liar has never been one of them, lying has never been one of the things Gabbro thought they’d ever hear Gossan do.

And here they are, lying as naturally as anything, straight into the faces of their two best friends to keep Gabbro from having to deal with the two of them questioning their mental state.

“That’s two rough falls in under a day.” Gneiss mutters, and Gabbro glances at the nearby bed. They aren’t sure why Sanidine is in it, but they look badly banged up, and it makes them wonder.

Gossan is about to respond when they hear the whine of an older ship’s engines coasting over the crater. They shove past Hornfels to get back outside, shirtless still, eyes wide, and-

Esker’s ship. The only one still flying from Slate’s original designs, the only one that hasn’t been smashed to pieces by a crash. They stare at it, watching their friend disembark with their trademark hat firmly in place, and then make for the launchpad’s base. They need to keep an eye on two hatchlings, but they’re not about to be able to do that knowing their old friend has returned and not knowing why. What is Esker doing here?

“Gossan, what in Hearth’s name are you doing without a shirt on?” Esker calls as the elevator descends.

“Wh- not important right now!” Gossan crosses their arms. “This better be good, Esker, I’m countin’ on you to keep an eye out for news up there.”

“We’ll get to that.” Esker waves a hand dismissively, and Gossan’s eyes narrow. “I’m here for you, hatchling. Walk with me a spell.”

Gossan groans, but as Esker starts walking off away from the launchpad they fall in behind. They don’t have the emotional energy left to argue with this. And as much as they aren’t happy that Esker isn’t listening for any news from Chert and Riebeck, if Esker has come back home, it means there’s something important in their head to discuss in person.

“You look awful.” Esker finally says, stopping to lean on a tree. This is a quiet spot, about halfway up the crater. A little plateau tucked away from everyone else.

“Nice seein’ you too.” Gossan grumbles, leaning against a tree of their own. “What’s this about?”

“You and those two hatchlings. Or did you think I wouldn’t notice someone getting launched by an overpressure?” Esker adjusts their hat. “Even if I hadn’t, Hornfels already told me about Sanidine. Tell me the truth, Gossan. This is all about Feldspar, isn’t it?”

Gossan flinches. It’s not that much of a surprise that Esker knows, because of course Esker knows. Even when they were still a gang of rowdy hatchlings, the oldest of them was the one who Knew Things, things that made them almost seem to read minds on occasion. It’s the one downside to having Esker up there on the moon. Nothing stays hidden from them for long.

Still. They’re too protective to simply admit it. “Might be, Esker. What’re you implying?”

“Implying, my ass.” Esker frowns, and, stars, Gossan wishes they could read that expression as anything but disappointment. “You’ve spent almost the entire last month avoiding a real conversation with anybody, until you finally went to see Porphy night before last, and I only know you did that because Hornfels told me. Sanidine-”

“-tripped and fell into an overpressure.” Gossan interrupts, casting a wary look at Esker. What’s the point of all this?

“No, Gossan, they did not trip and fall into an overpressure geyser. Stars above, do you think I’ve gone stupid from age? They’re not that careless.” Esker growls. “I’m not going to tell anyone else, if you think that’s what’s best, but that hatchling would have to have snuck sap wine out of Porphy’s cellar to trip into an overpressure.”

Gossan feels heat rising in their ears and face. Why does this feel like an interrogation? “This kind of accident could’ve happened to any hatchling!”

Esker barks a laugh. “Any hatchling but yours, maybe!”

“Excuse me?!” Gossan gasps out, staring at Esker incredulously.

“Don’t tell me I remember you and Slate coming to me in the middle of the night with an egg better than you do.” Esker grins, eyes sparkling with dangerous mischief.

“I-” Oh, Gossan’s face is deep violet now. They remember all too well. They were kind of hoping everyone else had forgotten. “Esker. You can’t possibly have the slightest idea-”

“I was on hatching-house duty back then, you know?” Esker continues, sounding almost gleeful. Gossan doesn’t get flustered easily, and their friend is hardly going to pass up this chance. “Easy to keep track of an egg that way, even if the parent said they declined identification. Don’t tell me you never suspected!”

Gossan is staring into the distance, eyes wide, as pieces fall into place in their head. Damn. No, of course not, why would they ever suspect this? As far as they knew, that egg from a very blurry night with Slate could’ve wound up at any of the settlements, given Esker was supposed to surrender it to the hatching-house’s care freely.

Then again, maybe they had, and the universe just laughed at them.

“Are you sure?” They ask, after a long pause.

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t tell you all this if I wasn’t, Gos.” Esker’s playful grin softens. “I don’t reckon this is going to change much, for you and Slate. And I have no intention of telling your hatchling the truth, at least, not right now. Not like you or I ever knew who our parents were. But given whose blood runs in them, I’m not buying that there was anything accidental about Sanidine and that overpressure.”

“Damn.” Gossan breathes. Well. They wonder if that’s part of why they’ve always liked the hatchling so damn much, given they were the one who’d carried the egg back then.

Right. Deal with that later.

“All that aside, what am I supposed t’say? You already figured things out. They jumped.” Gossan says, rubbing their face. “They jumped, and told me they didn’t want t’wake up. And m’pretty sure they meant it.”

“And Gabbro?” Esker asks, all of their mirth gone.

“Void take me, Esker, you better swear not to tell a soul about this.” Gossan hisses. “For their sake. Both of them.”

“It stays between us, Gos. Talk to me.”

“I found them in their grove.” Gossan tries to ignore the way their stomach twists at the memory. “They’d cut up their arms, like they were just more wood for whittling. Didn’t even seem to really know they were doing it. And, stars, Esker, they asked me what the point is, and I didn’t have a good answer anymore.”

Esker steps forward, placing their hands on their friend’s shoulders. “Gossan…”

“They asked why I was worried about them! Like they didn’t think I should be!” Gossan chokes, they’re crying again, damn it. “Why all of this, Esker? Why did- why Feldspar? Of everyone, of all of us, why Feldspar?”

Esker pulls Gossan against them. “I don’t know, Gos. That’s above my orbit. You fly as high as they did, I suppose eventually you can’t find land.”

“They were supposed to come back.” Gossan whispers. “They were always supposed to come back.”

“I know.” Esker sighs. “Trust me, I know. Eventually we’re all gonna go out on our last voyage. But, stars, I wish it hadn’t been so soon for them.”

“It’s cruel.” Gossan says. “Stealing Felds away from us like this? Tryin’ to steal our hatchlings, now, too? Why is the universe doing this to us?”

“Easy, Gossan. Easy.” Esker shakes their head, patting their friend on the back. “You know as well as I do it ain’t like that. Some things don’t have a reason. The sun’s not burnin’ for love or for hate, it just does because it is.”

Gossan breathes deep. They haven’t heard this in a long time. Hornfels’ old mentor once said it to the group of them, back when the closest they were getting to the stars was the old Hearthian and their telescope. Before the observatory became a museum, before Feldspar rode into space “accidentally”, before the idea of the Venture even existed, they’d been told that truth: Sometimes, things just are, especially things as vast as the stars and the planets.

“I know.” Gossan finally says. “Felds’d boot me in the rear for forgetting, wouldn’t they?”

“Probably.” Esker sighs. “I’m gonna miss them. But I think, just maybe, we need to let everything move forward again.”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Gossan asks, stepping back from their friend to frown at them.

“I’m going to tell Hornfels I think we should call off the search.” Esker says, their soft pink eyes not straying from Gossan’s own.

Gossan’s gut tightens as though Esker just punched them.

“It’s been a month of nothing. The only place nobody’s flown into is Dark Bramble, and Feldspar’s not stupid enough to go anywhere near that place.” Esker says, as gently as they know how. “Searching like this, pretending there’s still a tree we haven’t climbed, it’s hurting everyone. We’ll have a funeral, we’ll mourn, but we have to find a way to keep moving. It’s what they’d want us to do, Gos.”

“I-” Gossan swallows. “I know. But I can’t see the way. Felds was the Venture, they were- they- how do I keep moving without them to carve a trail?”

Esker smiles sadly. “You trust yourself. Trust me, Hornfels, and yes, even Slate. Trust Chert, and Riebeck. Train Gabbro, and train your hatchling, and trust them too. Felds already showed us how to find our way up there. We have to believe in the next group of astronauts, and they’ll show us what they can do from that trailhead. Same as it’s always been, whether it’s the Venture, the village leadership, the tree keepers. There’s always that moment where you have to trust whoever’s coming next to show you what the future’s like. You just haven’t been on this side of it before.”

“Damn.” Gossan says, softly. Then they reach up and tap the brim of Esker’s hat, giving them a tired smile. “You keep talkin’ like that, I might start thinkin’ you really are a wise old elder now.”

“If it’ll get you to show me half as much respect as I deserve for putting up with you four, maybe you should.” Esker steps back, fixing their hat. “You feel better?”

“I think I will once it all sinks in.” Gossan sighs, wiping their eyes. “Thanks, Esker. I guess I really did need that.”

“Knew you’d see sense eventually.” Esker nods. “Come on. Your hatchling still needs you, yeah? You get back to the clinic, and I’ll go tell Porphy you’ll be busy.”

“Does everyone know-”

“You two are about the most obvious thing I’ve seen in my life, Gossan.” Esker laughs, starting back toward the village.

Gossan’s face is burning purple again. They follow with their arms crossed, but they do feel better, a little.

Their hatchling. What an odd thought. Theirs and, of all people’s, Slate’s- they’d been half convinced the egg wasn’t viable back then, and yet, there was Sanidine. What a bizarre turn in their life. They decide Slate doesn’t need to know about this, not yet, because they’re not even sure they’re going to tell Sanidine, and there’s no real point in getting into a whole new kind of debate with Slate anyway. They can tell them both, eventually, when they feel ready.

The walk back is refreshingly quiet. It gives them a chance to process everything, and stars above do they need to process everything. They stop off at their home to retrieve a fresh shirt, and take the chance to wash up properly instead of using a basin at Gneiss’ clinic, and that helps clear their head immensely.

Gossan arrives back at the clinic soon after.

“Gneiss? Any news?” They ask, circling around toward the back.

“Nothing major. Hornfels took Gabbro to go talk to Esker about something, said it was Ventures business. Surprised you’re here, given that.” Gneiss sighs. They’re seated beside Sanidine’s bed, and they get up to greet Gossan at the doorway. “Sani hasn’t woken up. Low-grade fever. I’ve given them the medicine I’ve got, and it should help. All we can do is wait.”

Gossan’s heart sinks again at the sight of their hatchling, still unconscious, still bandaged heavily. They look Gneiss in the eyes, then place their hand on their friend’s shoulder.

“Your turn to take a break. I’ll stay here. You go get some food in you, wash up, maybe grab a nap.” Gossan says, firmly. “I can handle it when they wake up, and you look worse’n I feel.”

“Hmph. Alright, Gossan. Listen, about Gabbro, I’m not going to ask questions. But you and I both know falling on a rock can’t cause wound patterns like that. All I’m going to ask is that you try to take care of them, all right? Whatever you’ve worked out with them, I don’t care- just keep them alive.” Gneiss says, and they let themselves, for a moment, sound as exhausted as they really are. “Please.”

“I will.” Gossan nods. “Nobody else. We’re not losing anyone else. I won’t let it happen, Gneiss. I promise.”

“Thank you.” Gneiss whispers, then they start past Gossan and out the door.

Gossan sighs heavily, dropping into the seat beside Sanidine’s bed and rubbing their face again.

Feldspar, they think, you better not let them follow you yet.

Chapter Text

Gossan stays at Sanidine’s bedside as the sun sets, one hand gently holding their hatchling’s wrist. Hornfels and Gneiss both stop by, but Gossan’s planted themselves as firmly as the large tree in the launchpad pavilion, and they refuse to be moved. Even then, and even having talked to Esker, the word from Hornfels is still hard to hear. Outer Wilds Ventures is giving up the search, effective immediately. Riebeck and Chert are being recalled for resupply, and the crew and astronauts will mourn so that they can move on.

There’s no public funeral planned, but the implication is clear to anyone who bothers to look: Feldspar isn’t coming home. It’s time to move forward.

If anything, that just makes Gossan’s place at their hatchling’s side feel even more important. The sun has been down for two hours when Porphy arrives, bearing a covered bowl of stew, a few of their wine bottles filled with tea, and supplies for Gneiss.

“Not coming back tonight?” They ask, placing the tea and stew on a bedside table.

“No. Stayin’ here until they don’t need me anymore.” Gossan replies, quietly.

Porphy gives them an appraising look. “Gneiss said you could leave anytime.”

“I don’t mean Gneiss.” Gossan sighs. “I’m fine, Porph. I’ll come t’your place as soon as I feel like I can.”

“Hm. You better.” Porphy says, before wrapping Gossan in a tight hug from the side, kissing their neck gently. “I heard about Gabbro’s fall, too. You’ve been busy today.”

Gossan sighs, relaxing into Porphy’s hold. They wish they could linger in it, follow it to Porphy’s bed and the safety it offers, but they remind themself that they’ve done more than enough disappearing. “You were right. I should’ve been out here for ‘em sooner.”

“Of course I was.” Porphy sighs. “Who would know more about people needing you than I do?”

“Mm.” Gossan closes their eyes for a moment. They don’t let go of Sanidine. “Go home, ‘fore I make you stay here with me.”

“Only because Gneiss would give us both a talking to.” Porphy smiles softly, kissing Gossan’s cheek before finally letting go of them. “Goodnight, Gossan. I love you.”

“I love you, Porphy.” Gossan says, turning to watch them leave. “Goodnight.”

Hours pass. Gossan eats the stew, drinks some of the tea, then closes their eyes and tries to rest. It’s difficult to even do that, between giving their hatchling doses of fever-controlling medicine and squeezing their wrist when their fever and pain cause them to start moaning. It’s an awful sound. Gossan tries not to think about it, focusing on simply being there.

In the quiet darkness between midnight and sunrise, Sanidine finally stirs. Gossan watches their eyes slowly open in the dim light, their pale yellow glittering as though the stars burned within them. Pupils the right sizes and sharp, thank the stars. Gneiss is still the most capable doctor on the planet, after all.

“Gossan?” They whisper, once they spot their flight coach. It’s quiet, but more importantly, it’s calm. “You real?”

“Hey, Sani.” Gossan says, cupping the hatchling’s hand between their own. The flipside of Gneiss’ medical ministrations- those drugs could really make you slow, make you doubt yourself. It was better than the alternative. “Yeah. I’m real.”

“Mmm.” Sanidine takes a moment to consider this. “Good. Chest hurts. Everythin’ hurts, but real bad there.”

Through the painkillers. Gossan briefly considers another dose, both to keep the pain from reaching their hatchling, and to keep them asleep to heal. It won’t actually help either of them and they know it, but the syringe Gneiss left for that kind of event is right over there.

“You hit a tree on the way down.” Gossan sighs. “Branch through th’side. Just barely missed your lung.”

“Oh.”

Another agonizing stretch of quiet. Sandiine watches Gossan’s face carefully.

“How come m’awake?” They ask, quieter still. It takes every bit of restraint Gossan has in them not to try to hug them tight against that question.

“You hit a tree right above me, hatchling.” Gossan says. “I’m not surprised if you don’t remember clearly. But I wasn’t about to leave you there.”

“Should’ve.” Sanidine mumbles under their breath.

Not quiet enough. Gossan’s hand tightens around their wrist, as though they can hold their hatchling down against the gales of loss and grief that threaten to blow them away. Maybe they can, they think.

“I could never.” They finally say. “You’re too important.”

Sanidine’s ears fold back at that. “You weren’t s’posed-” They trail off. Gossan heard them anyway, and their sluggish thoughts didn’t catch the words in time, and now they’re wilting under the founder’s concerned stare. A stare that, more than anyone else recently, knows something. “I’m not important.”

Gossan feels like Sanidine slapped them. They must look like it too, because Sanidine winces and closes their eyes.

“Sanidine.” They say, softly. “If you weren’t important, I wouldn’t be here. Why are you sayin’ that?”

As though they don’t know the answer already. But they want to hear it from Sanidine, because there’s a part of them that really hopes they’re wrong.

“Nothin’ is.” Sanidine mumbles, before opening their eyes again. “Th’ stars’re gonna take it all. Me ‘n everything else. Just like Feldspar.”

Gossan squeezes around Sanidine’s hand gently. “Maybe. I’ve been feelin’ that way, too. But it doesn’t mean you and I don’t matter.”

“How’re we s’posed t’matter?” Sanidine asks, quietly. “How’s anything?”

Gossan turns that over in their head, rolling it around with Esker and Porphy and Gabbro and all the other conversations they’ve had about this kind of thing recently. They run their thumbs across the back of Sanidine’s hand, and they think about the way Hal was so panicked. They remember the pride they felt when Sanidine had, just a month ago, admitted that they wanted to join the venture. Back when Feldspar was just late by a day or two. Back when the stars were still beautiful.

They remember Feldspar, and their jaw clenches.

“Felds mattered. Mattered so much neither of us can stand it now they’re gone.” Gossan says. “Those stars they chased matter. Hal worrying about you matters. Esker comin’ down from the moon to check on things matters. They might not matter forever, but they have to matter right now, to us. ‘Cause we’re here.”

Sanidine stares into Gossan’s eyes, and Gossan doesn’t look away.

“I won’t pretend it’s easy t’keep in mind.” Gossan’s voice drops again. “Or that it’s easy to remember it when we’re feelin’ like this. But all the black in the void and all the stars within it don’t get t’say we don’t matter, long as we’re here.”

“It hurts.” Sanidine says, their voice shaky. “I, I didn’t want to, wake up when I landed. Because, it hurts for it to matter. It makes me feel so,” Their hand clenches into a fist in Gossan’s hold, trembling slightly with effort. “Angry. That it matters to us and not to, to everything else, and I want. I want to stop hurting.”

“I know.” Gossan shakes their head. “It makes me angry, too. You’re angry, and you hurt, because you care so much. You want to stop caring, and you can’t. I’ve been feelin’ the same way. You know what Esker told me, though?”

Sanidine’s ears perk up slightly at Esker’s name. “Huh?”

“Esker reminded me that it ain’t that the stars and the sky don’t care, it’s that they can’t. They don’t hate, or love, or ignore you or pay attention, they just are. It’s up to us to care.” Gossan sighs. “I’d forgotten that. It doesn’t make it easier, but it helps me remember why I keep caring at all.”

They watch their hatchling’s face, as Sanidine tries to process their thoughts through the haze of medicine in their system.

“I wish we didn’t have to.” Sanidine finally says, and their hand relaxes again. “I. I didn’t know, you felt like that too. Thought it was just me, ‘cause Hal didn’t get it, nobody got it.”

Gossan smiles sadly. “Sorry. I was all caught up in my own hurt. I should’ve been out here sooner.”

Sanidine tries to shake their head, wincing and hissing against the way their muscles complain. The fatigue is starting to catch up to them again, and even without the pain that much effort feels unreasonable. “Nuh. You’re, you don’t have- you didn’t do anythin’ to anyone. ‘Specially not me.”

“Mm.” Gossan reaches up to gently run a hand over Sanidine’s head, avoiding the bandages there. “If me bein’ out here would’ve kept you from feelin’ like you had to geyser-jump an overpressure to get away from how you felt, I should’ve been out here.”

Sanidine yawns. Medicine’s still got them in its hold, and on top of that, this had been a short but intense bit of talking. Gossan isn’t surprised when their eyes start to droop closed again. “Wouldn’ve told you.” They mumble.

“I s’pose you wouldn’t.” Gossan says. “But you can. Anything, anytime, even if it feels like I won’t understand. You come and tell me, okay, Sani?”

“Mnm.” Sanidine says, or tries to say. There’s probably more of a word there that the hatchling’s fatigue simply doesn’t allow them to speak. Instead, they fall back into what Gossan hopes dearly is a dreamless rest, and the founder leans back into their seat again.

“I’m sorry I was late.” They whisper, before closing their eyes, refusing to let go of their hatchling’s hand even now. “Goodnight, hatchling.”

They don’t let themself fall asleep, though they rest as best they can under the circumstances. As the sun starts to peek in through the window shade, Gneiss arrives to check Sanidine’s condition, and they shoo Gossan out of the chair physically.

“They woke up during the night.” Gossan says from the doorway, while Gneiss records vitals from the hatchling and injects another round of medicine. “Seemed aware, but slow.”

“That’s about normal.” Gneiss responds. “I’ve got them on about as heavy a dose of everything as I can give them, for the moment. The good news is, their fever’s breaking. Should mean they’re coming through the worst of this.”

Gossan sighs in relief, leaning a little heavier against the doorframe. “Thank Hearth.”

Gneiss sets about changing bandages and checking wounds, and that earns a whine of complaint as the hatchling wakes up again. Their left hand comes up to limply bat at the doctor’s arms- their right is still held in a cast.  “Ghn. Stooop.”

Gossan smiles softly. “Let Gneiss work, Sani. S’important.”

“Gahss’n?” The hatchling asks, sounding half-asleep.

Gossan stands back up, coming over so Sanidine can see them. They don’t particularly care for seeing the hatchling’s unbanadaged wounds, but they’re at least a damn sight better than they looked when Gossan brought them in. “Yeah. Gneiss chased me off so they could work.”

“I’ll do it again, too, if you get in the way.” Gneiss warns. “And I won’t be nice about it this time.”

“In front of the hatchling? I’m shocked.” Gossan says, in an exaggerated flat tone, and thank the stars that gets Sanidine to smile a little bit.

“Nothin’ I hah, haaven’t heard’m sayin’ afore.” Sanidine half-slurs their words, before hissing in response to Gneiss applying something to their side. “Ow!”

Gneiss sighs, starting to work on a new bandage for the area. “I’m glad you’re feeling more awake now, Sanidine.”

Gossan pats Gneiss on the shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on them, Gneiss, they’re all drugged up on you and Porphy’s concoctions.”

“Hmph. Speaking of Porphy, I have things here, Gossan. Hornfels says they’ll come by soon. You should head back and get some real sleep.” Gneiss says, glancing back at their friend.

Gossan sighs. “Yeah. I probably should. Sani? You okay if I go nap for a while? I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“Mhn.” Sanidine grunts. “Okay. You, you better. Better not, um. Disappear.”

“Never again.” Gossan says, and their smile is weighed down by sadness as they look their hatchling in the eye. “Okay?”

“Kay. Ow!”

Gossan leaves, not particularly needing to see the color of Sanidine’s blood any longer. They step outside into the morning sun, and for the first time since this whole mess began, they feel like they can breathe properly again. Things aren’t okay yet, but there’s a path leading out of the thorns. Sanidine and Gabbro are intact enough. Esker’s guidance has them moving forward, in stuttering, halting steps, but forward nonetheless.

They start for Porphy’s. If they’re lucky, they reason, the winemaker might be willing to lay back down for a while. If not, at least the bed is soft and warm, and their love will always listen. It’s so much more than Gossan figures they deserve, but it’s there waiting anyway, and they crave to simply fall into it and rest for a while, there with the person who reminds them that they matter.

Chapter Text

Five weeks from Feldspar’s disappearance, Gossan stands in the doorway to the clinic’s back room and watches Hornfels talk to Sanidine. Gabbro is with Slate today, talking about the design for the new safety harness. The pair have recovered as well as any Hearthian could hope to, although Gabbro is still sleeping at Gossan’s house. It’s a compromise with Gneiss, one forged quickly and quietly between the three of them. While the doctor refuses to pry into what happened in that grove, they also refuse to neglect their patient’s needs, and it’s obvious enough to them that Gabbro shouldn’t be left alone right now.

Slate can handle them. Honestly, Slate kind of has to with the other two founders and Gneiss all busy, at least until Chert arrives. They’re due back the next week and Gabbro will inevitably gravitate to them, as they always did before. By Gossan’s own mandate, nobody else is allowed to monitor their trainee until Gabbro gave the okay.

Sanidine’s health took an upswing once their fever broke. They’re still confined to the clinic, but they’re at least allowed to get up and move around a bit. Hal has been through to visit multiple times a day, as have a few of the others in the crater.

Gossan’s hatchling is still recovering emotionally, regardless of the number of people who have asked the founder about their well-being. But like Gabbro, they’re not being left alone, and they’re trying. It’s the thread that ties them all together, a promise not to give up on the light of the stars, for the sake of each other as much as for their own sakes. Gossan privately wishes they could share Gabbro and Sanidine’s hurt with each other, but they would never betray their trust that way without a damn good reason.

Hornfels has a book of some kind, loose bound. Self-printed, probably. Gossan knows they’ve been compiling something, though the last month has left them all a little bit isolated from each other outside of the search effort and the job of keeping the Venture together.

“So,” Hornfels says, patting the unlabeled cover of the book. “I thought you’d appreciate this, hatchling. Not even Hal and Riebeck have seen this one yet. I brought you the test print, straight from Micrite’s press.”

Sanidine’s eyes widen, and Gossan’s do as well. This is rare. Hornfels almost never shows anyone outside the Venture this kind of thing.

“Go on.” Hornfels presses the book into Sanidine’s good hand. “Give it a look. It’s yours.”

Gossan’s heart sings at the way Sanidine’s eyes sparkle.

The book is the first proper academic work on the Nomai to incorporate the photographs and artifacts the space program has brought back. It’s the first textbook to be published about the Nomai, Hornfels insists, because it sets aside the storybook tales and myths to focus on science and research.

Sanidine starts to talk to Hornfels about it in rambling sentences, discussing every photograph, every theory, every page. And Gossan swears they can see the spark catch in their hatchling’s blood again, that star-fire that inevitably pulled Feldspar away from Timber Hearth. There’s a lingering, aching fear in the back of Gossan’s head, the knowledge that that fire could consume Sanidine just as easily as it did their best friend.

But it’s worth it to see the way even Hornfels looks almost overwhelmed by their hatchling’s sudden enthusiasm and energy. It’s worth it. It has to be, because Gossan has now seen the alternative, and nearly anything is worth driving that back into the darkness.

It’s worth it for the way that, a week later, as Gossan, Slate, Chert and Hornfels are going over Chert’s latest reports in the Observatory, Sanidine bursts in and all but demands to be allowed to join the space program, still clutching Hornfels’ book tight to their chest.

Gossan doesn’t pry when, later that day, Chert leaves the observatory to look for Gabbro. That’s between the two of them, and there’s a flight jacket to design for their newest recruit, after all. They trust Chert to handle things, because Gabbro has told them they can.

Chert finds Gabbro at Porphy’s, because when everyone else is busy, Porphy is willing to give Gabbro enough space that the hatchling feels safe enough with them. And Gabbro, despite being asked to come for some scientific training with Chert, has been struggling to even attend Slate’s equipment explanations and Gossan’s jetpack lessons. They’re sitting in the kitchen, poking listlessly at a blank piece of paper, trying to capture words that feel like motes of dust in their head.

They immediately perk up when Chert enters, smiling faintly at their friend. “They finally let you go?”

“Hm! More like I finally let them go.” Chert smiles back, taking a seat beside Gabbro and setting down their bag. “How are you feeling? Gossan said you fell onto the wandering rock?”

“Better.” Gabbro says, then sighs. “Mostly better. The injuries are pretty much healed up.”

“That’s good.” Chert nods. They watch their friend for a moment. The hatchling looks like they haven’t been sleeping well, but more importantly, their hands are tight, fists trembling against the paper. They look calm, but there’s something else there, and the smaller astronaut considers their words.

Gabbro is difficult for most people, Chert reasons, because they approach Gabbro and expect the hatchling to behave and think in a certain way. This has never worked, in much the same way that Chert knows they have to use different wavelengths and lenses to see the truth of different stars. Gabbro is good at hiding in plain sight just like those stars, pushing their feelings and emotions out of view and lying to your face about them, because there’s a certain expectation that’s circulated for years that they’re. Y’know. Gabbro.

Chert never lets them get away with it. With Gossan, they’ve found the little ways that Gabbro gives themself away, the things they say and do to deflect. But even then, the pair both know that they can’t simply force Gabbro to open up. They have to find the way in.

“You missed training with me.” Chert says, and Gabbro nearly snaps their pencil in half, their small smile vanishing in an instant. There it is. The gap in the armor.

“I was busy.” Gabbro lies.

“You were not.” Chert taps the table a few times, the calm rhythm of their drums. “Gabbro, your hands are shaking. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t want to.” Gabbro grits their teeth, and Chert frowns.

“Okay. Have you told Gossan about it, at least?”

“Yes.” Gabbro says. Half-truth. It sounds like a lie, and Chert’s eyes narrow, watching the tension in Gabbro’s face and shoulders.

They know better than to push. Gabbro’s made their desire to keep it to themself very clear, and unlike Gossan, Chert isn’t being given any reason to pull the truth out of their friend. Still, they can’t just let them feel this way. They hoist their bag and start rifling through books and papers.

“What- don’t tell me you’re going to make me learn that stuff now.” Gabbro says, grimacing. “Especially not after all that.”

“Don’t tempt me. No, I’ve got something else for you.” Chert hums thoughtfully. Did they remember to bring it? They’d thought Gabbro might find it to be an interesting curiosity, but now they wonder if it’s not exactly what their friend needs to read. “It’s in here, somewhere. Give me a second.”

Darn. Their bag is always so cluttered after coming home from space, an annoyance born mostly of the difficulty in keeping things straight while packing up a campsite on a planet like Ember Twin. Their hand closes around a small paperback book, and they grin triumphantly. “A-ha! I knew I had it in here.”

Gabbro squints at the book that Chert so enthusiastically places into their hands. “Meditation: A Guide to the Inner Self?”

“The title is a bit much.” Chert agrees with a shrug. “I actually picked it up from the Southern Settlement thinking you might find it interesting. I thumbed through it, but I don’t think it’s really for me. The idea of being in that state makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want to assume, Gabbro, but I wonder if something like this might help with whatever you’re going through.”

Gabbro sighs, setting the book on the table and giving Chert a smile that feels a little less tiny. “I’ll give it a try. Worst thing that happens is I can’t get into it either, right?”

“Sure. If that happens, maybe you can give it to Tuff or something. Help them relax when they’re working in the caves.” Chert smiles back. “Now, all of that aside, let me tell you about what I saw while I was out there…”

It’s been one year since Feldspar disappeared.

Their name is no longer spoken of in hushed tones, and when they come up, people no longer give the Founders the same nervous glances. As much as they’re missed, life has pushed onward. At the museum, Sanidine conspires with Hal on a project that will ultimately change the fate of the Universe. Hornfels plans the launch of a new satellite, working late into the night on drafting just the right kind of camera design. Slate watches over an empty sleeping bag, a smile on their face, while their latest design idles on the launchpad.

Gossan leans on the wall of the museum next to the door, waiting. Their patience is soon rewarded.

Gabbro comes ambling up the path. They had a growth spurt in the last six months, always a bit of a late bloomer, and they now stand a full head above their mentor. The way Gossan looks at them has grown no less fond, no less proud.

They step up to each other, and Gossan places a hand on Gabbro’s shoulder warmly. They’re one of the few adults in the crater that Gabbro doesn’t reflexively pull away from, even now, and Gossan refuses to compromise that with the hug they want to give their student. “There you are. How’re you feelin’?”

“Not as nervous as I thought I would.” Gabbro says, smiling. “I think I might actually be ready for this.”

“I know you’re ready for this.” Gossan nods. “You’ve been through all the training we can give you.”

Gabbro takes a deep breath, letting it flow through their body, then exhales slowly. Gossan doesn’t interrupt. It’s the same trick that the flight coach taught them years ago, but Gabbro seems to benefit from it so much more now than anyone else Gossan’s taught the trick to. “I know. Thanks for saying it, Gossan.”

“I only ever tell you the truth, Gabbro. Same as ever. You’re gonna do great up there, wherever you wind up going.” Gossan lets go of Gabbro’s shoulder, then tilts their head toward the museum door. “Hornfels is upstairs with your codes.”

Gabbro nods. They start through the door, then pause, looking back at their coach with a curious smile. “You know, Gossan… they don’t look so much like hooks anymore. I hope they’re willing to forgive me for that.”

“I think they are.” Gossan says. “Go on, astronaut. Go make Outer Wilds Ventures proud.”

Gabbro nods again, and they disappear into the museum. By the time they’re back outside, Gossan has relocated to the crater’s edge, sitting beside Porphy with a special bottle of sap wine and some fried fish between them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever watched from up here before.” Porphy says, between sips of wine. “It’s nice.”

“It is.” Gossan agrees. “This is where the group used to gather to watch Felds test prototypes. So that we could hide if Rutile came lookin’, and otherwise so we could see where Feldspar landed if it blew up.”

“When it blew up.” Porphy nudges Gossan’s elbow. “You feeling alright? I know this must be a whole mess in your heart, watching them go.”

“Better’n I thought I might be. Didn’t even cry when I saw them.” Gossan grins, earning another nudge from their love. “Really, though. That hatchling is gonna do great things up there, they all are. Nobody could take their place. I just keep tellin’ myself that, that they’re goin’ up there for a reason.”

“That almost sounds like wisdom.” Porphy reaches for Gossan’s hand, as the elevator down below starts moving. “I like it.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Gossan smirks, squeezing Porphy’s hand gently. “I still feel like the idiot you decided to start kissin’ one day.”

The pair watch Gabbro cross the pad. The astronaut disappears into their ship, and they lean toward each other. “I never said you were an idiot. Usually you’re just a little dense. Good thing you’ve got people to knock sense into you.”

“It’s luck beyond my wildest dreams.” Gossan confirms.

Anything Porphy might want to say in response is drowned out by the incredible roar of the ship’s engines, echoing across the crater and out into the woods. The ship swung forward, up, and away from the pad, carrying Gabbro through the early morning sky and quickly out of sight.

Gossan sighs, lifting their cup to the ship’s trail in a sort of toast.

“To the stars, Gabbro. Show us the universe you see up there.”