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The creed of the Trailblaze is to move forward. To keep pushing onward, to blaze a path for others to follow. Those who join often wish to escape the past (like Dan Heng and Sunday) or don’t have one to remember (March and Stelle).
But when the dust has settled from the Planarcadian crisis, Himeko’s glad to stay a little longer. The stars still sing to her just as loudly as they did 15 years ago, but there’s no clock ticking over her head. The weathering curse is gone, and the stars will remain, no matter how long she spends here.
She finally has time to erect a grave for Motoko.
Motoko. The perfect her. The version she thought she would never see. A dying girl’s self indulgent dream come to life, a what-if scenario she longed from the bottom of her heart to become true.
Her only companion in a time of chaos, bloodshed, and uncertainty. The women that switched their fates so that Himeko would have a chance to see the stars she loved, and she would wither away before ever setting foot on the train she had worked so hard to repair.
The other Nameless watch from a respectful distance as she paints a tombstone on the former crash site of the Express. She adds the Astral Express taking off into the stars, as well as the giant of Pegana’s legacy circling the train. Motoko’s name is carved underneath in large letters, and below that is a simple inscription.
“May You Forever Live Among The Stars.”
And with that final stroke, the tombstone manifests into reality, much the way Motoko herself did 15 years ago.
“Thank you,” She says quietly. “The stars… they’re even more beautiful up close. I just wish you got to see them with me.”
And then she’s crying, silent tears streaming down her face as she describes the impossibilites of space. Of nebulas, of newly formed galaxies, of pulsars glowing in the far off distance. Of planets, that look so different with frigid blizzards and warm, humid rainforests made of purple-scaled vines. Of the people there, that face hardship every day of their lives but continue to persevere.
“Are you proud of me?” She whispers to a figure in her mind, one that looks and sounds exactly like she does now, but exudes a calm confidence she could never emulate.
Maybe it’s her imagination, but she can almost hear another voice in the back of her head. “Of course silly! Just look at you. You’ve become a true navigator. The sights you’ve seen, the people you protect…. Heh, I can’t think of anyone more suited as a navigator.”
As if on cue, she feels the other Nameless join her. March has made flowers out of six-phase ice, and one by one, they lay them on the grave.
“Thank you for saving Himeko,” Welt says. There’s a heavy weight on his words. A history that she’s never pried into. All she knows is that it makes him see ghosts of people who are alive.
(He used to look at her that way, back when he first boarded the Express. But over the passage of time, and especially recently, with her past coming to light, she’s become alive, the beating heart of the Express.)
March 7th lays down her flower next. “I’m sure Himeko is understating a lot of her experiences.” Her voice is wavering like she’s trying not to cry. “Shes the one who found me floating in space, thawed me out, and gave me a home.”
Dan Heng nods. “She let me board the Express, back when I was a fugitive of the Xianxhou and being pursued by a wanted swordwman. Even with circumstances like that, she never hesitated to take me in.”
Stelle joins in, her voice unusually somber. “Himeko gave me the ticket when I had zero memories, and a world-ending cancer in my chest.” She gives a small laugh. “Doubt anyone else would take an amnesiac girl with a stellaron inside of her, much less treat her like family.”
“You would be proud of her, Motoko.” Sunday adds. “In Penacony, she showed me the strength that comes from the will of the weak, and was willing to take me in afterwards…despite everything I did on Penacony.”
“I can’t imagine life without Himeko and the Astral Express,” March says, and Himeko watches as all the other Nameless nodd in agreement. Warmth and gratitude, as vast as the starry skies, bubble inside of her. “So thank you Motoko, for your sacrifice.”
“And thank you Himeko, for giving us a home.” Himeko lets out an ‘oomf’ as March embraces her tightly. She relaxes, and wraps one arm around March’s frame, using her other to pull in Stelle. Welt joins her from the back, and Dan Heng from the side, using his tail to wrap around all of them. Himeko’s heart warms as Sunday joins in without timidly asking for permission. It… it felt like being in a family.
But speaking of family…
“I should probably make a grave for Ryusuke as well,” She admits quietly. “The real Ryusuke, not Asat Pramad.” The second name still tastes bitter on her tongue. The Lord Ravager is still out there, defeated but not dead.
Welt nods. “He deserves to have someone remember him, even if it’s 20 years too late.”
Himeko raises her paintbrush, ready to make another tombstone. Her hand stills. Her brush doesn’t touch the paper. While the design for Motoko’s flowed out of her naturally, she doesn’t even know where to start with Ryusuke.
Warm hands and a gentle voice greeting her, “Nice to meet you, I’m your father, Ryusuke.”
None of it was real. Her father had died alone, and she, an orphaned child desperate for affection, had ran into the arms of an imposter and stayed there for 10 years. She had never met her father, had no idea what he was truly like.
“Ryusuke was an ordinary man on a fool’s quest. He died at his wife’s funeral, trying to get back to the daughter he had abandoned. It was a predictable and boring struggle.”
She didn’t know if he had loved her, or just her mother. Didn’t know how he would’ve been as a father. Would he have bought different paints from his travels? Held her hand when she was sick?
“My daughter! Daddy doesn’t have to work today, so let's paint a miniature express and tear off into the unknown!”
“Oh? You want to hear another bedtime story! Why of course! Once upon a time, a history fictionologist sneaked on board the Express…”
She almost wished Asat Pramad had been abusive or cruel. It would make him easier to hate. Easier to differentiate him from the real Ryusuke, who (hopefully) would’ve never done that. But no, the Lord Ravager had shown her nothing but kindness, almost to the point of spoiling her.
And so when she thought of Ryusuke, all she would think of was memories with him. A kind voice, smiling eyes, gestures that felt genuine. Of the pure awe and adoration she felt around him. Akivili above, he had once been the only person she ever felt truly safe around. Her father’s murderer.
Her hand clenched around the paintbrush. Asat had twisted all the memories of her happy childhood into something warped and stained. He had robbed her of any way to grieve for Ryusuke, inserting himself into her dad’s spot.
“I…I don’t know what to paint,” She admitted.”I never met my real father.”
“Then,” March hesitated briefly before continuing on with shaky confidence, “Paint a gravestone mourning what could have been. The happy memories that would’ve happened. In remembrance of Ryusuke and his stolen future.”
Himeko stared at her, briefly stunned. The young, confused girl she had thawed out of ice and practically raised had grown into someone brave and thoughtful. A true Nameless.
(Had Asat felt the same pride when he watched her take to the stars?)
“That’s a beautiful idea, March.” The pink-haired girl beamed with pride as Himeko raised her brush again.
The grave was much simpler than Motoko’s. Just the name Ryusuke, with a carving of him, her mother, and a young version of her. The happy family that could’ve been, had the curse not run in their veins.
Some deep, traiterous part of her mind whispered, “Would it really have been better if he had lived? You would never have found your love for the stars. You would probably be 6 feet under, buried next to your mother.”
She hated herself for those thoughts. For the part that whispered, however true, that without Asat, she would be dead.
“It’s ok to think of Asat Pramad, Miss Himeko.” Sunday’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “Childhood love of a parental figure is hard to erase, even when you look back on retrospect.” His voice softens. “Deep down, part of me still loves Gopher Wood, even though he…”
Ah. A little guitily, Himeko realized she had forgotten the horrible childhood Sunday had.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was a good father,” She admitted. It felt deeply wrong, but he had put a love of space in her. Had always encouraged her to chase her dreams, even with the weathering curse ensuring she had no hope of reaching them.
“You can hate him, and be grateful at the same time,” Sunday said. “After all, from what I’ve heard, his stories were the reason you were able to rebuild the Express.”
Himeko just gave a bitter laugh. “Inspired by the ever-so-wonderful and steadfast Navigator Isee. Sometimes it makes me feel like this entire play has been one big joke from Aha.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But I do owe him. He is undeniably the reason I am the person here today. And for that, I’m grateful.”
“Are you proud of me, father? Did you feel anything at all over these years? Were those bedtime stories and travel gifts truly just an act?”
“Did you grieve coming home to an empty home and thinking I was dead?”
She would just have to make peace with never learning that answer.
She turned her attention back to the original matter at hand. The graves for Motoko and Ryusuke. Something pinged in her heart, seeing once warm, living beings reduced to carved stone. “I guess I truly am the last member of the Murata lineage.” No blood relatives left. No friends on Planarcadia. But that’s what she got for renouncing her home for the stars.
Dan Heng placed a hand on her shoulder. “You will have us. Always.”
Stelle nodded. “We’ll stick with you on this journey until the end of time.” Her words were confident, resolute. With a promise like that, Himeko could see why people called her Akivili.
Behind her, Welt, March, and Sunday gazed at her with the same steadfast confidence as Stelle.
She didn’t have a home on Planarcadia anymore, but… she had one here. With the Express. On the train built from a dying girl’s dream, with a motley crew with no past to return to.
And she felt happy. Happier than she had ever felt on the planet of art and hedonism, the land of endless creativity and caricatures of elation.
“Motoko, Ryusuke, Asat… I’ve finally found my home.”
And the stars smiled back.
…
Asat watched his daughter create the two graves from the shadows. He saw the other passengers embrace her. He wasn’t close enough to hear what they said, but he could wager a guess.
For the second time, the Express departed from Planarcadia.
And for the second time, Asat watched it leave unscathed.
This time, there was no twitching of his fingers. No urge to strike it down. He just bowed his head, fighting against human emotions that Nanook’s golden blood was supposed to burn away.
He had told his Himeko stories of the Express while knowing her fate. It was meant to be a cruel joke. That the girl would long for the stars with such fiery passion, only to be snuffed out before reaching them. As Sisyphean as the epics that nurtured Irontomb, only much more concise.
He was never meant to be attached. The girl was just a side hobby to entertain him as he worked to coax Voracity’s shadow from the paradise of Elation. But somewhere along the way… he started referring to her as his daughter. Felt a stab in his chest when he came home 15 years ago to an empty house.
And now here he was, feeling long buried emotions as his daughter soared towards her dreams, healthy, alive, surrounded by a loyal crew of passengers.
The joke was on him, just like it always was.
The navigator turned Lord Ravager watched his daughter blaze through the cosmos with the same passion he once had. More than Dolly, and more than Falcon, she resembled him. Isee. The same warmth that made people trust the Astral Express. The same curiosity for the unknown, for the end of the world. The same willingness to give anyone a second chance, whenever they be outcasts, criminals, or a hollow void of memory.
Except Isee had long since turned into a monster. The stars in his eyes had faded with every cruelty witnessed, every passenger that boarded the Express to take advantage of Akivili, every saved planet that tore itself apart after they departed.
And when he tried to teach Himeko the same lesson, she fought back. Just like she did against her fate. Just like a true Nameless. She had lived where Isee had died.
There was regret, guilt, pride, love, stirring in his chest. Emotions he thought had been crushed with Isee’s idealism.
But Himeko had always made him feel more human.
“Go forward then,” he whispered as he watched the train grow farther and farther away. “Trailblaze towards the end of the world. Go beyond me, beyond Falcon, beyond where anyone has gone before.”
For a moment he was Isee again, looking to the next generation of the Nameless. He was Ryusuke, uttering a promise to his daughter.
“No matter what, I’ll be there for you. Even at the end of the universe.”