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The first time Kaede entrusts a wish to the stars, it’s a selfish one. It’s the first time she has ever made a wish for herself alone, and it feels good.
(Back on the planet she originates from, she believed there was a perfect life beyond the one she lived, one ruled over by an entirely benevolent being. She couldn’t centre herself, for those around her insisted she should focus on others, on those less fortunate than herself. And she did exactly that. She was righteous, and she was good - though she now realises that the goodness she experienced back then doesn’t even hold a candle to the sheer ecstasy she feels now. Things have changed, after all. She has been abandoned by a being she once believed in with her whole heart, just as they all have. Kaede thinks it’s only fair that she gets a wish to herself now, and she chooses to entrust it to the stars. Perhaps that’s the lingering of the being’s influence; after all, she always believed that, whoever they are, they lived up there in the grand expanse of the sky.)
Kaede was never supposed to see that star, for she never earned the right to witness it fall. She hasn’t even been enrolled in Anakt Garden for a full week, but in a place like this, picking up on the rules as quickly as possible is a necessity for making it just another minute longer. Regardless, this rule is no secret.
There are no windows inside the facility, a very deliberate choice. All they are permitted to see, day in and day out, are blank, white walls. They wear white, and white is all they see. It’s all they deserve - unless, of course, they’re good. If, and only if, they truly earn it, they are given passes to the outside.
Kaede hasn’t earned it yet, but from the whispers that pass between them all, it’s a paradise. She eagerly awaits it, itching for just another glimpse of the sky, but she hasn’t earned it yet.
She doesn’t deserve to see it, so she shouldn’t get to see it. Fate, if it even exists, seems to have other ideas.
It happens as Kaede is being herded back to her room. Exhaustion is overtaking her, weighing down each one of her limbs, and her eyes are drooping. Her legs scream in protest as she keeps moving forwards, but she has no choice. She’s only just started dance training, and she’s already rapidly falling behind her peers. Having to stay later was her own fault, really, because it was her own inadequacy that prevented her from succeeding in the first place.
Nevertheless, her failures end up providing her with a window of opportunity, for as she is being escorted down the corridor, a door to the outside slides open.
All she has is a single instant to take it in. Two other people (her competitors, now, she needs to remind herself, people she will have to crush if she wants to see another day) are returning from their reward, cheeks rosy and barely suppressed grins upon their faces. She doesn’t really look at them, though, not when there’s the sight behind them.
The sky here is something entirely different to the one Kaede could see from her home, but its unfamiliarity is washed away by the way it snatches her breath. In that moment, that precious treasure of a second, it’s as if time slows.
The segyein escorting her began leaping forwards instantly in order to prevent an unauthorised viewing of the sky. The other humans’ faces drop, too, as they realise she is getting something they could never dream of.
Kaede, though, can’t tear her eyes from a single star, streaking its way across the sky. Her eyes follow it for just a second as it falls, and a memory smacks right into her.
A woman, the details of her face lost due to time and distance. She was holding Kaede close, cradling her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
“Over there,” she had whispered, pointing up at a star just like the one she sees now. “Do you see it?” Kaede remembers nodding, and the woman pulling her even closer. “That star is special. If you ever see one like it, make sure to tell it what you want. It may just grant it.”
Kaede’s nose scrunched up in disbelief. “How will it hear me?”
The woman laughed lightly at that. “You just have to trust me, okay? It will hear, and it will listen.”
In the present, Kaede is knocked to the ground. The air is forced from her lungs as the segyein pins her down, whilst another slams the door shut. She squeezes her eyes tightly shut but, to her surprise, they don’t punish her for the breach of the rules. They just continue shoving her forwards, and back to her room.
Once alone, Kaede’s thoughts instantly shift towards the star once more. She doesn’t know if she is allowed to wish upon it when she can’t even see it, but—
It will hear, and it will listen.
Kaede slowly gets to her knees. It’s what she’s always done when conversing with the old being, so she doesn’t see why it would be different with this one. She clasps her hands together, closes her eyes, and begins to make a wish.
“Please, star,” she whispers. “Make this easy, please. Please let me get through it, please let me survive, and…”
Kaede pauses as her mind wanders, considering the people earlier. They are her enemies now, but she’s never had one of those before. A star’s blessing is just what she needs to conquer them, and not just them. There are hundreds of humans here, humans just like her.
There was one she saw when they were being transported here, stuck in see-through cubes like collectables. A girl dressed in white, frilly (and quite frankly suffocating looking) clothing, with dark chocolate eyes that seemed to capture her gaze, and not allow her to look away. She is who Kaede thinks of when she says her next words, so quiet that even she can barely hear them.
“And please don’t let me get attached,” she finishes. “Please.”
Perhaps that’s where she began to gather her karma: a selfish, self-pitying wish upon a dying star.
A wish, Kaede decides, shouldn’t have to shoulder the burden of her desires alone. She needs to do her part to ensure its success, so she needs to remain distant from those who surround her.
It starts out easy. After all, it’s not as if they have copious amounts of free time. Aside from meals and small moments in the early mornings and late evenings, there’s never any time to interact with her peers. There are those who whisper amongst themselves during the long hours of training, but they are soon cowed into silence.
Kaede doesn’t talk to those that surround her, and most of the time she doesn’t even look them in the eye. She devotes all of her energy to the lessons and training they are put through, and remains stubbornly silent the remainder of the time.
Then, Kaede makes a grave error.
In vocal training, there is a voice that stands out to her. It isn’t louder than the rest, it isn’t the most natural in its ability or with the most unique sound. It’s quite the opposite - it blends perfectly into the chorus, not taking the spotlight from anyone else, yet also not being outshined. It’s light and delicate, lacking power, yet more melodic than anything Kaede can recall hearing. It tinkles like bells, it flips like a fairy, and she feels almost compelled to find its source.
When her eyes drift, searching out the owner of the mystical voice, they widen upon meeting another pair. Stunning eyes, pulling her in with no intention of ever letting go, for it’s the girl she met during transportation. Wearing far plainer clothes, looking much less groomed due to the messiness of her hair, shifting from one foot to another with uncertainty, but the same girl nonetheless.
Kaede quickly forces her face back into neutrality, and continues singing. She has a wish to help fulfill, one she can’t abandon so quickly. She can’t give in to the girl with gorgeous dark eyes and a perfect voice, because then she’ll wind up with an attachment she can’t shake.
…That doesn’t stop Kaede from singling her voice out amongst them all each time they sing, though.
I can enjoy her voice without getting caught liking her, she reasons with herself. It’s not as if I’m talking to her.
Vocal lessons rapidly became her favourite. It helps that she enjoys them, of course, but really she just looks forward to that voice. There’s something about it that makes Kaede feel seen, which she can recognise as something entirely irrational. It’s just a voice, so there’s no way the absence of loneliness she feels when hearing it means anything. She just enjoys it, that’s all.
The severity of her error only grows the longer she allows herself to indulge in the voice. No matter how much she tells herself it’s just the voice, and not the girl behind it that drives her, Kaede knows deep down that she has an itching, burning curiosity to get to know what she’s like.
She tells herself she won’t act on it. She tells herself over and over, yet it doesn’t stick.
Kaede hears that voice one morning as she’s making her way to breakfast, and it stops her in her tracks. Her heart picks up as she slowly swivels around, and her eyes fall upon the girl who owns the voice, singing softly to herself.
She doesn’t know why she does it. It could be the way the others they live with brush right past this girl, not sparing her a word or even a glance, cutting her off entirely. It could be that, despite Kaede’s resolve, this whole place seems as if it would be more bearable with someone else at her side, and this girl’s voice alone makes her feel less lonely. It could just be her sparkling dark eyes, which strike Kaede right to her core.
Regardless, she steps towards her, and opens her mouth to join in the song. The girl’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t halt in her song.
They only have a couple of moments to sing together, but Kaede finds herself singing as they continue on their way regardless.
“I’m Shion,” the girl beams.
“Kaede,” she replies, trying to ignore the roiling in her stomach at the thought that she’s failed in her desire. It’s not too late, of course, but the moment they sit down for lunch together, the severity of her error dawns upon Kaede. As Shion laughs, and chatters, and pretends her spoon is a moustache, she knows, somewhere deep within her, that there’s no way she’ll ever be able to deny her anything.
Kaede is trapped, and the worst part is, she can’t even bring herself to truly mind.
A wish shouldn’t have to carry the burden of her desires alone.
Kaede remembers that thought, and the drive behind it. Her determination to remain unattached from all around her wasn’t lacking, and neither was her initial rejection of those around her.
One girl, and her amazing voice, were enough to shatter it all entirely. So, internally, Kaede promises herself that she will make another wish. She just needs the chance, and to get that, there’s only one thing she can do.
Kaede throws herself headfirst into the lessons they receive at Anakt Garden. She belts out songs, putting all the emotion she physically can into her voice. She practices smiling more often, and standing up straighter to become more marketable. She pours all of her focus into dance training, turning it from one of her weaker areas to something she excels in, and she keeps it up.
Really, she knows the shift wouldn’t be possible without Shion. Having someone striving just as she is, right at her side, does more than provide her with a person who gets it. They discuss tips with each other, techniques to improve themselves in every way that counts.
It occurs to Kaede as she divulges what she’s learned that she is fuelling a competitor, one who matches her talent, and could potentially even top it. By feeding Shion this information, she could be signing her own death warrant.
But we’re not up against each other yet, she reminds herself. We just need to make it through this segment alive, and make it onto that stage.
She doesn’t let herself think beyond that.
Throughout their time in Anakt Garden, Kaede refuses to allow herself to think about what comes next. Every time a thought to do with it blooms in her brain, she distracts herself instantly. There are plenty of other things to occupy her mind, so she saves that problem for her future self to deal with.
The biggest distraction of all comes in the form of her hard work finally paying off. The many hours of slogging away to improve her stage presence and talent climax in an invitation outside.
Perhaps the only thing that’s even better than that, she gets to go out with Shion. When she discovers the news, she bursts into her room, only to discover that Shion, too, was on the way to tell her. Their eyes meet, and grins spread across their faces in unison. The giddy feeling overtakes Kaede’s brain, firmly shelving all thoughts of what lurks just beyond the horizon.
There is a hushed silence between them as an uninterested segyein guides them to the door, beginning to unlock it immediately. With its back turned, Shion reaches out a hand towards Kaede, beaming expectantly. Kaede’s heart thunders as she glances around, before finally clasping it, relishing in the feeling of their fingers interlocking. Shion gives it a reassuring squeeze as the door opens, and their eyes widen in unison as sunlight falls upon them for the first time in months.
Kaede is breathless as she steps outside, wriggling her toes as her bare feet meet the grass. It tickles, and she lets out a small giggle. Shion scrunches up her nose at the sensation, but soon forgets it entirely as she takes in the landscape before them.
Kaede feels almost overwhelmed by the large volume of things grappling for her attention - the rushing stream, the swaying trees, the large, open sky—but she doesn’t let go of Shion’s hand. Instead, she allows herself to be guided down to the water, and step into it.
She gasps as it rushes up over her ankles, sending a shock of cold through her system, but it soon turns to giggles as she flicks a handful of water at Shion. After clutching at her chest, as if affronted by the action, Shion leaps into action as well. Squealing soon fills the air as they fling water at each other, very quickly soaking themselves.
They were only given an afternoon off, so by the time they collapse, exhausted, onto the grass, the sun is already beginning to dip below the horizon. Kaede frowns at how quickly the time went, but her focus is soon shifted as Shion throws an arm and a leg over her, encasing her in her warmth.
A flush very quickly begins to creep up onto her cheeks, and Kaede tries to ignore the way her heart pounds as she rolls onto her side so she is staring Shion right in the face. Even as the light fades, their eyes don’t leave each other, and Kaede finds herself taking deliberate notice of every point of contact between them, and the light she feels within her from the hold alone.
“We might graduate soon,” Shion says suddenly, voice quiet even in the silence. Kaede stiffens at those words, at the truth they don’t acknowledge.
If they don’t graduate, they will be disposed of immediately. They are of no use if they cannot bring wealth to the segyeins that cultivated their talents and raised them, and they will be discarded like the replaceable pawns they are. Kaede knows this, of course she does, but the thought of Shion of all people being thrown away for not making it through a series of arbitrary tests has a tight feeling developing in her chest.
If they do graduate and get to leave Anakt Garden, a fresh horror is all that awaits them, a world of glitz and glam, where one misstep could lead to their demise. It is a world where only one of them can survive, or neither of them.
And, following that train of thought, an uncomfortable truth finally settles in Kaede’s gut: there is no happy ending. There is no reality where both she and Shion emerge from this never-ending carousel of publicity alive.
Either she dies, and Shion lives, or Shion dies, and she lives, or they both die together. Those are the only three possibilities, and Kaede can’t quite decide which is the worst.
She once more threads their hands together, itching to become closer to Shion, to merge with her all together. A world without Shion is unfathomable in the torture it would bring. It has only been weeks, and Kaede knows that, but the thought of living on without her has her struggling to breathe, has her eyes growing wet and teary. A world without Shion’s laugh, a world without Shion’s song, doesn’t seem like much of a world at all.
But would she rather the reverse be true? Would she put that fate upon Shion’s shoulders instead of her own? Kaede squeezes her eyes tightly shut, as if that will blot out the image forming in her mind - an image of Shion with Kaede’s ashes raining down over her, abandoned to her fate.
There is no way to win, and there isn’t meant to be. They are nothing more than one trick ponies, to provide brief entertainment for the hordes of segyein, before being led to their demise.
Kaede barely notices as a tear finally slips down her cheek until it reaches her mouth, and she tastes the salt upon her lips. Shion reaches up to cradle her face, to wipe it away, and all Kaede can do is lean into her hand as the sobs start coming hard, and fast.
Through blurred vision, Kaede looks up at the sky towering above them both. Compared to it, they are as insignificant as ants, but so are the segyeins. In the end, they will all return to dust, and that thought is like a warm blanket finally enshrouding her, protecting her from the rest of the world.
A star isn’t falling today, but Kaede wishes anyway. She wishes so fervently, so vehemently that she tenses up, sending all her energy into projecting her wish up there.
Save her, she pleads to the unresponsive sky. Please save her over me.
At that moment, she doesn’t notice Shion’s bittersweet smile. She doesn’t know how fruitless her wish will turn out to be when compared to the all-encompassing avalanche that is her love.
They both graduate. They share the news with each other with smiles plastered on their faces. They’ve survived thus far, but now the competition truly begins.
Only one of them has a chance to survive, and Kaede can’t even begin to process that thought. It keeps her awake long into the night, her eyes wide even when she should be exhausted. The only thread of hope she has is thin, ready to snap at a moment’s notice, but it’s that she shouldn’t have to face Shion until later. If they can both just wait long enough, she tries to tell herself, then maybe the stars will save them.
Kaede is reminded painfully of her own observation that stars cannot act entirely on their own when the matching for the rounds begins. Spotlights highlight the contestants in a beam of harsh white, emphasising the shadows on their faces and making them look almost ghoulish.
The first one flicks on right above Shion, and Kaede swears she feels her own heart dropping like a stone. It doesn’t even take a second for tears to begin to blur her vision, for her head to start to spin. Shion’s wide eyes meet hers as she trembles, knowing that her potential death is the first in line.
They wait, and Kaede wishes once more. Her thoughts become one mantra of please, please, please, please, please—
Please let it be someone she can beat.
Please let her win.
Please let her survive.
Please don’t be me.
The stars have well and truly turned their back on Kaede. That, or they never had it at all.
When the light flicks on above her, it’s blindingly bright. When the light flicks on above her, Kaede can no longer breathe. She pants and she struggles for oxygen because, when the light flicks on, it’s akin to the sound of a death knell.
The death of herself, or the death of Shion, or the death of them both. The reality is, one of them will outlive the other, one will have to deal with the burden. Even if it’s only for a week or so as the competition progresses, Kaede can’t wrap her head around it.
The segyeins don’t care in the slightest. They put them both in a room, and set them to work on crafting the performance of a lifetime. And it will be, for it will cut short an entire life.
Shion takes charge in writing the lyrics right away, a sort of detached response overtaking her. She doesn’t speak, she hardly blinks, and she begins writing.
Kaede should help her. This is a song they should create together, for it will become the final thing one of them ever hears. It should be grand and beautiful and all of those things but it will never compare to the woman she has beside her.
So, Shion writes the lyrics on autopilot, and Kaede just sits there, shellshocked. Her mind races, but she doesn’t move a muscle.
She watches, almost detached, as Shion begins distributing the lines. An entirely even split, or it is at first, for Shion pauses.
Kaede can practically see the cogs turning in her brain as she frowns down at them. Then, without a word of warning, she picks up the yellow highlighter, the one for Kaede’s lines. She begins to run it over one of her lines, and that action says a thousand words.
Their levels of talent balance out. They excel in different areas but, when it comes down to it, they are the same. If they have the same amount of lines, they could score the same amount of points.
A single extra line would be enough to tip the round in either one of their favours. A single extra line would be the difference between life and death, and so Kaede finally opens her mouth to insist that Shion take the line back.
The look she gives her is unlike anything Kaede has ever seen before. Her eyes turn cold and unyielding, a glare so fierce that she flinches backwards as Shion’s scowl only deepens. It only lasts for a few seconds until, deeming Kaede sufficiently silenced, she returns to the Shion she knows.
Kaede’s heart pounds, her head screams, but the words get caught in her throat, unable to come out. And, when Shion strides from the room, she doesn’t follow.
From that moment on, everything tilts in her favour. Shion stumbles over her words in interviews, making Kaede shine by comparison. The training rooms she requires always seem to be free when she needs them, and Shion hardly seems to practice at all. Kaede feels as if she’s stuck in a daze, a horrific dream that she can’t break out of.
Shion is actively ending her own life through these actions, but she doesn’t care one bit - not when Kaede is the one who will live to see another day.
And Kaede can’t bring herself to return the favour. She wants to cling to life with everything she has, but she can’t help the rising feeling that she’s utterly selfish for the desire. Here Shion is, both able and fully willing to crash and burn for her love, whereas she can’t even get her toes wet in return.
Their love is so drastically different that Kaede’s doesn’t even feel real by comparison. Her love is different, but is it good enough?
It doesn’t feel that way. Not in the slightest.
It doesn’t feel that way as she watches Shion poison all of her publicity, taking beating after beating from her segyein guardian for the bad press she generates. It all makes Kaede look golden by comparison, though, so it’s worth it in her eyes.
It doesn’t feel that way when, in a desperate bid to stop this madness, Kaede tries to catapult herself over the edge. Shion almost jumps after her, clinging to her with all her might. The look in her eyes only emphasises that Kaede’s love isn’t worth it, because how can she subject her to this? The hurt and sheer terror that swirls within her eyes is enough to stop Kaede in her tracks, when it hasn’t stopped Shion once.
It doesn’t feel that way when Kaede is roaming the halls at night, and stumbles across a scene that will likely be burned into her eyes for as long as she lives, no matter how short that ends up being.
Shion, watching deaths of previous competitors on repeat. Tracing the spot on her neck where they always aim to cut a life most efficiently, as if already picturing the blood spilling from it. Kaede finds herself too horrified to look away, practically frozen as Shion watches it again, and again. She searches up different angles of the same death, practices swinging her arm through the air as she topples to the ground.
A choked sob escapes from somewhere, and it takes Kaede several seconds to realise that it originated from her own throat. Shion doesn’t hear it, but she can’t take another second of the horrific scene.
Kaede flings herself across the room and barrels into Shion’s arms. She lets out a surprised gasp, but eventually allows her arms to fall around Kaede as she sobs into her shirt.
“Why?” Kaede demands, pounding a fist against Shion’s chest and immediately regretting the action, regardless of how little it seems to affect her. “Why?”
“You know why,” Shion answers eventually, voice small.
Kaede does.
Shion gently cups her face once more, pressing a short kiss to her lips. Kaede’s eyes widen, she moves to lean into it further, but Shion doesn’t let her. Instead, she presses their foreheads together, stares her down, and says, “It will be okay.”
They can both sense the lie in her voice. The way she delivers it is so ferocious, it’s as if she can force it to come true by saying it with enough determination. It’s a falsehood, plain and simple, but Kaede wants to believe it so, so badly.
Deep down, at a time Kaede can’t pinpoint, she began to believe in Shion more than she ever believed in the stars. She is more tangible than the being that came with the world before, closer than the stars, and she is the first person to make Kaede feel truly seen in the whirlwind of terror that is their lives.
Kaede wants to believe the lie that springs from her God’s lips, but no matter how hard she tries, she can’t.
There is one last attempt to stop Shion’s madness, to level the playing field. Backstage, feeling sick to her stomach at the noise of the crowd already roaring with excitement, Kaede tries to stop her. For the first time, when Shion shoots her a glare, she doesn’t back down.
She screams, she clutches at her, and she begs. She pleads with the woman who has become her God, but she does not reply with kindness.
Shion presses a hand over her mouth firmly, and, when faced with the full power of those eyes, and the memory of all the times she’s caused them to fill with anguish, Kaede allows herself to be silenced.
Then Shion smiles, smiles because Kaede will live on and she won’t, and that’s okay because it’s what she wants, and, for one, glorious moment, everything seems okay again.
Kaede walks through a dream throughout their entire performance. The world narrows, becoming just her, and Shion. They belt their hearts out underneath soft lights and, with the audience holding their breath, it’s as if they’re the only two people in the entire world.
They sing, and Kaede smiles, and Sua smiles back at her, and it’s all okay because they haven’t reached the end of the song yet. They haven’t reached it, and until they reach it, it will remain okay.
A song doesn’t last forever.
The first thing Kaede registers is blood, warm and sticky, splattering across her face, over her dress, spilling across the stage. So, so much blood, engulfing everything within sight.
It takes her several seconds to match the blood to its source.
Kaede is pretty sure she screams at the sight of Shion crumpled over. She reaches forwards, reaching towards her life, her light, her God, but hands yank her back. A collar is placed around her neck, and she is silenced.
They drag her away. She doesn’t move, but they don’t expect her to—even the segyeins don’t have that expectation of her. She doesn’t allow her eyes to drift from Shion, from searching for her face. It’s covered by her hair, shielded by the position in which she fell, and that was intentional. Throughout her practices, Shion ensured that Kaede would never see her lifeless face.
Kaede thinks she screams again, but she isn’t even certain anymore. The segyeins dump her unceremoniously on the floor of an unfamiliar room, and lock the door behind her, done with her for now.
So she screams, and she sobs, and she claws at her arms. She can’t even focus on replaying the moments on stage, the tender touches and glances as they sung their song.
As Shion sang her swan song.
Kaede screams herself hoarse, and the segyeins lets her. After all, her voice won’t be needed again for several rounds, plenty of time to heal. Without that worry, they simply don’t care.
Her energy doesn’t last, and soon the loud sobs turn into silent tears streaming down her face. Kaede’s head throbs, but her heart hurts far, far worse. She curls up, tucking her knees into her chest, and closes her eyes, as if blocking the world from her view will erase everything that just happened.
She wishes it would so badly that it aches.
Kaede no longer has a God; all that’s left for her are the stars that failed her time and time again. Perhaps the problem was never them, though—it could’ve just as easily been her. Kaede has poisoned the only thing she ever held close, twisted her until she willingly gave her life.
Besides, the first time Kaede wished upon a star, it was stupidly self-centered. She thinks that must be where it all began: with one arrogant girl, thinking that fate would bend to her will.
Of course it had to punish her. Kaede sees now that she deserved it.