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It isn't often Shadow comes across a small-town market after sunset.
Usually, in towns so far away from cities, the markets happen during the day, to catch all the tourists. After the sun sets, you don't normally see the tents still up. And yet, here he is, standing at the entrance to a small but bustling market. Far enough into the bush that the sky is full of glittering stars and swirling colours, the galaxy's beauty and beyond allowed to spread her wings across the sky. It is a beautiful sight, but a haunting one.
After all, Shadow will never be able to look at the stars without thinking of the void from where he came.
The ARK, sanctuary from the stars, now empty and desolate, even the blood cleaned away before it dried. Further than that, too, a comet filled with shapeshifters and commanders, colonizers of the worst kind, though a comet long gone by now. If an alien was a being born outside the Earth, Shadow would be the textbook definition.
Of course, some of his blood belongs to the Earth and feels at home on it so, but for better or worse, Shadow was made in space, and it will forever be a home he can never live in.
It feels as though it is for worse. Just looking at the stars is painful: they are an endless reminder of too much. Of the paths he nearly went down, of the destruction he almost caused. Of the people that died, too many casualties to count and too many names to remember, even if he tried his best. Writing them all down had taken more days and tears than he ever should have shed for such a thing.
Too many lives cut short, names he remembered and names he didn't, faces he had seen daily and faces he had seen once a year if that. Faces he only saw and names he only learned long after they had died for him. How much would have changed if he had been born through soil and not space? How much would have changed if Gerald had never sought the advice of those from beyond the galaxy they knew? How many lives would have been spared if the stars had never claimed Shadow for their own?
He hates looking up, no matter how beautiful the embrace of faraway space was; it is too much to hold. The blood he had that belongs to the earth, the blood that gives him his form, was his only sanctuary, his one connection to the soil and stone below his feet. He holds onto it tighter than his memories- His one way to say he belongs here, the one thing that could cut the cord between him and the stars.
In truth, as alluring as it is, Shadow hates the night sky. It is where all his pain lies, and if that is where he was born, does that mean he is destined for eternal pain? He cannot bring himself to look away, as if the purples and blues of the galaxy are spilled blood, but he cannot bring himself to look at it either- to see his reflection in the lines between the stars. If constellations are connected by cosmic string, then his are surely bound by chains instead. No, better that he can stand in the grass and look up. Never again would he find himself floating in the great abyss of space- to fall was to return home, surely. Surely.
…Still, now is not the time to stare the stars' awful, glittering gaze back. There is a market here, after all.
Shadow tears his gaze downward and begins to walk through the market with careful steps. A few food vans are gathered in a corner, Greek food and crepes and ice cream and whatnot. The usual. The stalls themselves seem to be organized by what they sell, since it takes a little while to get past all the little wooden ornaments. One shop sells a woven scarf that reminds him of Rouge; he hadn't been intending to buy anything tonight, but he decides to get it for her birthday in a few weeks' time. He rolls it up in a bag so that it does not catch when he tucks it in his quills.
The handmade goods here are many, and a testament to skill: from intricately woven bags to delicately carved wooden mechanisms, a small market like this is one that displays what the "love" in "labour of love" truly looks like.
Of course, the downside to a market so far out from the city is that everyone knows everyone, and an unfamiliar face can attract a few stares. Some people give him a polite wave when he catches them looking, while the children find themselves a little embarrassed but continue to sneak curious looks later on.
It is when Shadow is quietly sampling some honey, allowing the few stray bees that followed their keeper out to curiously flutter about him and land on his fur, that he catches the stare of one particular child for about the third time. The little kid- likely a marsupial, from the looks of it, with a scarf around their neck in red, yellow and black- looks away in embarrassment, but there is a curious look in their eyes. Not the simple curiosity a child has when they see a stranger in a place where everyone is familiar, but the curiosity of a child who wants to ask a question and does not quite know how or if they should. Shadow goes back to purchasing his honey as if nothing happened. He rolls the honey up in a bag, too, albeit tighter than he did the scarf. If the child wishes, they can come up to him and ask whatever they like.
And they do, eventually, though not until a little later. He is sitting on a stone nearby, in an area clearly set out for those who wish to simply sit and watch the scene, when they make their move. Their parents appear to be talking to someone elsewhere, so they have been set loose for the moment. It takes a little while, but they shyly approach him, looking at the ground when they catch his eye.
"Um… excuse me, sir," they say, and their accent reminds him somewhat of Barry's. It's a rather common one in this area.
"Yes?" Shadow replies, and he tries to soften his tone. Speaking to children has never really been his strong suit, not since he was a child himself.
"Uhm…" The kid cleared their throat, clearly nervous. "I, uh… Your quills make you look like a star and it's. Really cool. Sorry."
Shadow blinks, surprised. Of all things a child could say…
"Do they really?" he asks, the genuine curiosity in his voice making the child look up. They nod quickly.
"Mmhmm."
…huh.
Shadow has never thought of them that way. Whenever he looks in the mirror, all he can see is the Black Arms. But… the child is right, aren't they? There is a starlike shape to his quill groups. They've always been that way.
It makes Shadow look back up at the stars, joined by the child beside him. He really can't escape them, could he? As much as the Earth's magnetizing pull had drawn him down- as much as he had allowed himself to be pulled down- the sight of the night sky makes his heart yearn in a way that belongs not to his conscious mind but to the threads of his being into which starlight is woven. They are the threads that pull his quills to flare in a crude imitation of their shape, that sets his powers alight with the fire that powered suns, that gives him the ability to breathe when there is nothing to fill his lungs. Can he really distance himself from it?
"Y-you know," the kid said, temporarily pulling Shadow out of his thoughts, "I got told a story once. One of our stories. It was about these seven sisters who were running away from a man who wanted to marry one of them but wasn't allowed to. And they ran away into the stars, and the Jampijinpa man followed them. So they're in the stars every night." They squint at the sky. "I don't remember how to find them. I'm not good at that. And I'm not good at remembering all the dreaming stories. But I heard there are other kinds of people that live in the stars too, like aliens."
"There are," Shadow says softly, almost at a whisper. He doesn't know why- it feels like impulse. And he's never heard this story before.
"Really?" the kid asks, sitting down to look at the stars better. Their voice goes quieter, too. "My teacher told me once that we have iron in our blood, and iron is made in the stars, so we're made of stardust. Is that true, too?"
"Yes," Shadow replies. "It's true."
"Wow," whispers the kid. And it makes Shadow wonder. If even those born on Earth have shards of the stars within them… Why does he turn his back? He would be connected to them whether he was born in space or not. And… His creation was outside of his control, wasn't it? Just like the Seven Sisters, he had no choice but to end up with the stars. He had never chosen to be created with Black Arms DNA, nor had he chosen to be created for a war he would never fight in.
Shadow often comes across to others as fearless. He is not afraid to take his past for what it is, to turn the seal of the Black Arms into his own. This is not necessarily wrong, but at times, it could not be further from the truth.
Even Shadow gets scared sometimes, after all. Scared of himself. Of what he was made to be, of what he is, of what he could have been and could still be. If space is where his pain lies, then is he destined to live a life of endless pain? Or… can he take the endless void his heart yearns for and make it his own, too? The prospect scares him, and he does not know if he is ready. To accept his place in the night sky would be to accept… everything. In a wholly different way to how he's been accepting it up until now.
"Kid?" he asks, not looking down.
"Yeah?" they reply.
"That story of yours. The Seven Sisters… Do you think they like the stars?" He pauses. "I know they're running. They're only there to escape. But… I don't know. What would they think of the stars?"
The child hums.
"Um… Well, they went into the sky to be protected by the stars. My cousin says their stars are a symbol, of, like… their strength, or something, as a united family. So… I dunno." They shrug, glancing up at the stars before looking back down at their hands. "But… I think they're okay with the stars. I mean, it's their home, but they're part of the land too. I think they probably like it, so long as they're all together."
The kid hesitates. "I don't think it would matter to them as long as they're all with each other. That's, um… That seems more important to them. I know that's not really an answer. Sorry."
"No, it's okay," Shadow replies, slowly piecing his thoughts together. "You're right." Does your home really matter so long as you can be happy there?
Maybe that was what he needed to figure out. That the stars could be his home just as much as the Earth, and that it didn't really matter where his home was as long as he was happy. After all, wasn't he happy in the stars once, too?
"Um… sir?" the kid pipes up, albeit quietly. "Can I ask a question?"
"Go ahead," Shadow says, finally looking down. The kid's eyes are brown, though they look black in the dim light of a nearby lantern.
"Are the stars your home too?" they ask, and it's so quiet of a whisper that it can hardly be heard under the sounds of life around them.
Are they?
Shadow thinks. Of the ARK, of the Seven Sisters, of the Black Arms, of the iron in his blood. Of the stars and of himself. Of everything he's ever been through and everything he's known. All the memories he's lived and lost and lived again.
Are the stars his home?
He sees his reflection in the child's bright eyes, the stars glittering behind him.
"Yes," he breathes, a whisper that echoes in his heart like it's been called from the depths of a canyon. "Yes, they are. They're not the best home, but they're mine." There's something inside him that makes him smile.
The child's eyes grow wide. They can tell, from his tone and his smile and everything about him, that he is telling a truth that is also a little bit like a secret- but a truth nonetheless.
An undeniable truth, that he has chosen to keep inside his heart like a treasure.
"Wow," the child says. "um… thank you for telling me that. And answering my questions." They smile sheepishly. "Sorry, uh... what's your name, sir?"
"Shadow," he replies. "Shadow the Hedgehog." The kid blinks in surprise before returning to a smile.
"That sounds like a starry name. I'm Asha the Wallaby." They look over their shoulder at where their parents are waiting. "Um… I should probably go home. But. Thanks."
"That's fine," Shadow says, standing up. "I should too. And you don't need to thank me." He shakes his head. "I should be thanking you." The kid knows without it being said that they've helped him, and they take his hand willingly.
"You're welcome," they say, dusting their clothes off. "Have fun at the markets. Or on Earth, I guess."
"You too," Shadow replies, and the young wallaby runs back to their parents with a small goodbye wave.
How strange children can be.
Although, thinking back on it… Shadow is still a child too, in some ways. So maybe it’s not too strange at all.
…No stranger than meeting someone whose home lies in the stars, anyway.