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The ride back home is loud.
The girls — still in their transformations, shining and radiant with magic — laugh a bit too loudly, adrenaline still kicking. Stella’s draped around Brandon, who’s taken one of the control desks. Flora and Aisha are deep in conversation with this new guy, Nabu, about the last concert of The Heart of Waves, a popular Androsian band. Tecna and Timmy man the two main control panels — normally Helia would handle one of them, but he’s not here today. Bloom and Sky sit in the corner, right on the floor, grinning and giggling like the teenagers in love that they are.
Riven’s chewing on a protein bar. Whatever others might say, these missions drain you like nothing else. Especially the spontaneous ones — and he wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place.
Journeys between realms can take days. That’s why Red Fountain ships have cabins: barely large enough to pass as rooms, but enough for a bed. That’s where he finds Musa.
The door slides open. Musa is curled on the windowsill, legs tucked under her. Her wings — big, shimmering, breathtaking — move slowly, rhythmically, in a way a guy like Riven could never fully understand. He could just watch, frozen. Her hands, wrapped in sheer pink gloves, are curled into soft fists.
She’s beautiful, this fairy, he thinks.
“I saw her,” she says, turning toward him. Her voice is flat, but her eyes are glassy and swollen, like she’s either just cried, or is about to. “In the Labyrinth,” she adds, turning back to the window. It sounds like a simple fact, but Riven knows better.
That’s how his fairy of music says: I miss her. I love her.
He steps inside. The door slides shut behind him. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been great with this stuff. But there’s a dull ache blooming in his chest, the kind that comes from loving someone hard, and still being unable to fix what’s hurting them.
“Did she say anything?” he asks softly. He wants to reach out, put a hand on her shoulder, offer something of himself. But he hesitates. Her wings feel... sacred. Like something too pure for someone like him to lay a hand on.
“That she’s proud of me,” Musa says. Her voice is small, but steady. She’s not crying. For her, this is intimacy — to let someone see her here, like this. Riven knows that.
He walks closer. She leans into him, rests her head against his chest. She feels so delicate, this fierce girl he’s fought beside so many times.
He tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of hers. She lets him.
“Back there... when I had to choose, I knew what the right thing was,” she murmurs. “A fairy always puts the universe before herself. But for a second, I hesitated. It felt wrong to walk away. She was right there. I could’ve stayed, listened to her sing, played piano with her, been with her.”
Riven doesn’t speak. He just holds her, lips still pressed to her head, breathing in her scent — herbal shampoo, forest, fairy dust.
“Did I do the right thing, Riven?” she asks, not looking at him.
“I don’t know,” he says truthfully. And he means it. But more than ever, he feels how much he loves her. This fairy of music. The girl who could play any instrument like she was born with it. Who always sleeps in socks. Who blasts sound bombs in battle. Who is now so quiet, so small, in his arms.
“But I’m glad you didn’t stay there. I’m glad you came back. To me.”
She looks up, wings fluttering softly. Then, gently, she takes his hand and pulls him down beside her. Her gloves are soft and unreal against his rough skin. He sits without protest, stunned — always — by how someone like her could love someone like him.
She sniffles, and the corner of her mouth twitches. “I’m glad you came, too.”
Riven snorts, rolls his eyes, embarrassed by the whole jealous spiral that got him here. But Musa’s still holding his hand, warm and steady.
“You really think I’d do that? Kiss someone?” she asks, tilting her head, smirking just a little.
“No,” he admits. “It’s me. I just... don’t want to lose you. Ever.”
It’s true. Every mission she goes on without him, it haunts him. The thought of her not coming back. Of her getting hurt when he’s not there. And it hurts. Even now, when she’s right here, safe, but still with red eyes and a faraway look. He doesn’t want her to cry. Not ever.
They don’t say much after that. They sit, hand in hand, watching the stars blur past the window, the soft hum of the ship’s engine and muffled Stella’s giggles in the background. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s safe. Easy.
A moment later, Musa wraps her arms around his waist, chin on his shoulder. He hugs her back, careful, pulling her closer. She smells like ozone.
He doesn’t ask why she’s still in fairy form. Partly, it’s pride — the long-awaited transformation. Mostly, it is instinct. Always ready for the next battle. Always on alert. At least until they’re home.
Before pulling away, she presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “I love you,” she says, simply.
“And I love you, too,” he answers. The words are hard, but not impossible, not when she’s this close, this real. His. Right here.
Later, he’ll spend the rest of the flight watching her and the others flying alongside the ship — smiling, twirling in the clouds, free and unbothered.
I love you, he’ll think again. I love you so, Musa. My most beautiful fairy.