Chapter Text
There were instances wherein Stelle found herself checking her beacon every few minutes.
And during those certain instances, she had to remind herself that it was not due to a growing addiction to her beacon. Stelle knew she maintained a sense of control over her screen time, although more often than not, the average hours of usage weighed more than idle time. She scrunched her face as the recent notification duped her into checking the statistics for the past seven days. Disappointed, she almost flung her beacon.
Games consumed most of the hours, to be followed by the messaging app, albeit with a substantial gap. She cringed upon seeing the overview and closed her beacon quickly.
Besides, it was not the kind of notification she was anticipating.
The rest of the hours were spent dawdling around the train. With the last of her chores completed for the system day, Stelle finally earned the right to rest. However, she remained alone, sitting in one of the booths lined along the Party Car. She kept herself quiet lest Shush disturbed her with one of their jokes. Her beacon was lifted in the air in between the taut grip of her hands as she fumbled the screen with her thumbs. Finally, the device was connected to a set of earpieces to transmit its sound. In that manner, Stelle was able to immerse herself into the game.
However, within an hour, all the missions were accomplished and her action points were spent. Using boosters would only waste them. Stelle scowled as she pressed the ‘Home’ button and brought her beacon down. Hauling herself from the velvet backrest, she straightened her posture. Her back and nape ached from the strain, begging to be stretched, but she anticipated the consequences already. Sighing, she took off her earpieces and placed both devices on the table.
Though reluctant, Stelle slid across the booth and vacated the space—the stretch of her limbs was sorely needed anyway—and approached the counter where Shush worked.
“Miss Stelle, welcome—though, you have already been here for the past hour,” the robot dutifully pointed out. “Drinksmith Shush, at your service. Would you like a dessert, a drink or a joke?”
“You got…” Stelle trailed off as she looked around the train car first before, “normal coffee?”
“Two shots over water and ice, I presume?”
“Yep,” Stelle pressed her lips together. “And don’t make it obvious.”
“Would you like to hear a joke in my archives regarding coffee? It is worth retrieving,” Shush suggested. Its monitor beamed vivid colors of delighted expressions.
Nonetheless, it did not spark the same amount of enthusiasm in the Nameless. Stelle clicked her tongue. “Do you know where D—” she stopped herself abruptly. Clearing her throat, she repeated the question, “do you know where everyone is?”
Shush processed the inquiry briefly. “Mister Yang is with Miss Himeko and Pom-Pom at the engine room doing a routine check on the train’s thrusters,” it replied.
Although Stelle already knew that.
“Meanwhile, I believe I noticed Miss March planning supper preparations earlier when she passed through the cabin,” Shush continued to answer.
She just returned from being thrown out by the aforementioned woman for disturbing dinner preparations by teasingly misplacing ingredients around the pantry. Stifling her grin, Stelle pretended to clear her throat.
“For Mister Dan Heng, however,” Shush began. The twinge in Stelle’s chest returned with anticipation. “I have not seen him for the entire day, nor did any information regarding their assigned duty roster was updated for today.”
Stelle was acutely aware of how apparent her frown was. The robot’s answer was merely a reiteration of what she already knew. A murmur of gratitude followed regardless and Shush resumed work. The whir of the machines filled the silence. Stelle found herself leaning against the counter, pondering once more on Shush’s answer.
Dan Heng did not have any assigned tasks on the duty roster today. She checked twice. The first time out of confusion and the other for confirmation. As she passed by the passenger cabins, the Archives was too quiet. Stelle ensured her beacon’s signal was adequate but no messages appeared.
Grimace brimmed particularly. Even the comforting scent of roasted coffee beans could not alleviate the dismay that rooted menacingly in her abdomen. She felt restless until now, even after bearing Dan Heng’s supposed share of the work in today’s duty roster.
It was only twenty-two minutes past seventeen system hours. Only a mere cycle since she last left the train.
She stared into the vastness ahead. A minuscule fragment of the Xianzhou Luofu’s colossal hull could be seen from the windowpane. In a few hours, they were scheduled to depart for Penacony—their original destination following Jarilo-VI.
Deduction was barely needed. The Nameless’ crew assumed that Dan Heng went into the Luofu for bureaucratic purposes. Stelle contemplated sending a text multiple times but opted to wait instead.
He usually texted her about his whereabouts promptly.
The robot placed the cold serving of coffee into a sealed tumbler and handed it to Stelle, prying her away from her muddled thoughts. For a brief moment, the woman stared at it mindlessly before realizing. Reaching for the tumbler, she mumbled, “don’t report this to the log, okay? Thank you.”
As if the robot needed the reminder. Any coffee orders from the Nameless were strictly automated to omission—courtesy of the conductor.
Though it would not hurt to make sure.
Ultimately, it was always the first sip that was the most fulfilling. Stelle took a generous swig immediately, allowing the bitterness to gather in her throat. The acidic aftertaste made her groan softly but she was accustomed to it. Sauntering across the floor and to her booth, she checked for notifications again.
Still none. The scowl to her face returned.
Dan Heng’s lack of communication worried her. Reviewing their previous exchange of messages, Stelle tried to search for any indications for his sudden visit to the Luofu but, nothing suggested of the sort. She sighed heavily as she settled her beacon on the table, their conversation from two cycles ago remained alight, lucid and comprehensible.
Her heart stirred again, followed by a churn in her stomach. And no, it was not acid reflux. Stuck in a daze, Stelle cradled the tumbler in her hands as she slouched against the backrest. A worse posture than earlier. Surely, her body would punish her spitefully.
With her eyes fixated on the edge of the table, befuddled with her complicated notions regarding the Vidyadhara, she did not notice the approaching footsteps from behind.
“I’m certain that the craftsmanship of the table doesn’t actually interest you.”
Panicked, Stelle lurched forward to retrieve her beacon, tightening her grip on the tumbler simultaneously. Lifting her gaze, she found Dan Heng standing by the booth with his usual indifference. In his hands was a box wrapped in silk. The embroidered patterns were rather simple, but seamless nonetheless. Atop the box were two saucer plates and a small cup; all made of fine porcelain. Stelle’s gaze was easily distracted by its vivid colors.
“Can I sit with you?” he asked.
“Of course,” she nearly could not utter a response.
Dan Heng slid into the seat across from Stelle and placed a box on the table. He did not sit yet. Instead, he unwrapped the knots carefully to reveal a wooden box. Intricate carvings of flowers adorned its lid, indicating luxury. He was gentle—almost careful—like performing a delicate ritual. Stelle watched as he carefully lifted the lid, revealing mooncakes, stacked and organized within compartments.
“You didn’t tell me you went out,” she blurted. Stelle was not aware of how loud her voice had been. Dan Heng paused momentarily as a result.
“I know,” he acknowledged. “That’s why I got you something to make up for it. Mooncakes. We missed out on it during the Wardance Festival.”
Sheepish, Stelle sank back into the booth, burying her body underneath the table. Meanwhile, Dan Heng sat with impeccable posture. Truly, he was a disciplined man.
“Everything alright, Stelle?” Dan Heng asked whilst placing a mooncake into a saucer plate.
“Y-Yeah…” she struggled with her response, mostly due to her inability to gauge her own welfare. Her stomach continued to churn, more so with him so close by. Still, Dan Heng deserved a better answer. Any flimsy excuse should do. “I… just finished my chores for the day.”
He nodded, “I saw that you took my share of duties,” he noted. “Thank you.”
Stelle hummed. Then, she added in cheek, “you know, I’m getting kinda used to you thanking me for something.”
Instead of a blunt riposte, Dan Heng smiled faintly. Heartening as it was profound, his eyes reflected an ocean’s gentle breeze underneath a bright summer’s day. Gazing upon his pleasing countenance felt soothing to the soul. “It was the least I could do,” he said.
“And what of this?” Stelle asked, pointing to the rim of the plate.
“Just another way of saying thank you. If not for your presence, I would have struggled.”
Unconsciously, her hand went to her nape. Her calloused fingers grazed the remnant of a faint wound coincidentally. It already healed with no guarantee for scarring, but the pain was phantom—lingering with rancor. When she pressed her fingers against the flayed clots, she winced. Until now, it persisted with defiance.
Might as well live with a scar. Stelle bit her bottom lip. Dan Heng’s smile waned.
He steered the plate before her, keen on shifting her attention. Stelle studied the mooncake again, stoked for its generous size and sophisticated design.
“You know, I’m fine with getting dragged into everyone’s mess,” she said. “So, you don’t need to be all in debt to me or something.”
“How come?” Dan Heng’s brows furrowed.
“It’s…” Stelle pursed her lips. “Well, I’m new here so…” then, she shrugged. “Isn’t that what… this Trailblazing is all about?”
Dan Heng understood. The nod he gave her communicated more than enough. So, he outstretched his hand and pointed to the sealed tumbler she was still cradling in her arms. Stelle eagerly passed it to him.
A stiffened blade, swift in its stroke and salient in its sheen. Stelle unconsciously traced the brooch on her coat’s folded sleeve, digging its jagged and chipped edge into her gloved finger just to feel a prick. She felt nothing, much to the itch in her head. It was calling out to her—pain. She had to. If only to ground herself from the obscure spectacle before her. However, her callused skin compensated her compulsions; a bearing that goaded her inclinations. Penchants were difficult to ignore.
Her chest stirred with the trouncing of her heart.
So, instead, she pinched the skin of her forearm with all her fingers. Her hand trembled. Finally, she could feel a twinge, but not enough.
Aglaea was right—it felt like being sentenced to the gallows. When Phainon turned to her, with that expectant gaze, it felt as though her head was already being interweaved in its bristly rope. As Tribbie encouraged her, with her incessant sanguinity, it seemed as muddled noise sneering at her. Then, there was Hyacine and Castorice, brimming with hope, and yet, it filled her with dread.
Before the trapdoor could open, Stelle had enough.
“Stelle?” Dan Heng called for her, noticing her apparent distress. “What happened? What was that?”
He tentatively reached out to her. When the coarse skin of his knuckle touched her chin, she flinched. Dan Heng, alarmed, immediately withdrew. “Do you want to sit down?” he tried again, appealing softly.
Nodding towards the klinē, Dan Heng watched as Stelle contemplated briefly before complying. With each step, the heels of her boots echoed against the pristine marble floors. There, Dan Heng studied her unusual gait and subdued strides. They did not click with the tenacity that he was accustomed with.
“Can you tell me what happened back there?” he asked again, crossing his arms. Merely a habit—not necessarily an adjudication. Yet, it only made her avert her gaze. “What was Phainon talking about?”
“Where were you?” Stelle asked. “I was looking for you.”
Realizing that he cannot coerce the answer out of her, Dan Heng exhaled, releasing the tension trapped in his chest. He pressed his teeth together before acquiescing. “I got held up by two guards. They said they were messengers from the Council of Elders and wanted to verify my identity,” he replied. “I ended up missing Lady Trianne’s farewell ceremony as a result.”
“What questions did they ask?” It was an appropriate distraction. Stelle’s posture straightened barely as she listened.
Dan Heng clicked his tongue. The timid attempt at an interrogation left a bitter taste in his tongue. Their voices sounded like acid dripping and hissing. Until now, he was still reeling in its aftertaste, much to his vexation. “Their questions were quite specific, from how we arrived in Okhema to our relationships with each Chrysos Heir. They even asked what we did at the market back then.”
Stelle scoffed softly. “Looks like they had their eye on us since the start,” she remarked.
“Those pawns weren’t the brightest so I managed to brush them off, though it exhausted me more than I expected,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, applying pressure to curb the stress from accumulating into lingering discomfort.
“What do you make of this?”
“The only thing we know for sure is that some members of the Council of Elders aren’t happy with the Chrysos Heirs,” he deduced. “In the worst-case scenario, we would be caught up in the internal conflicts of the holy city.”
A sneer left her lips, “funny you say that. You know, that’s always my favorite episode.”
There was a murk that sullied the lucidity defining her gaze. Nebulous in regard; tenuous in grit. Indignation emerged as a vacuum that swallowed vain. Anxiety swathed her as a bleary fog veiling the shifty conduits. They held indifference—impartiality that he had not witnessed for a long while.
“Hey, Stelle, talk to me,” Dan Heng attempted once more.
“Talk…” Stelle finally spoke. The word drawled on her lips as she mused. Then, she shifted her gaze towards Dan Heng, her knuckle compressed marginally against her hyoid. “ताराः मेघैः आवृताः सन्ति।.“
(The stars are obscured by clouds.)
An emergency. Dan Heng pressed the coarse tip of his thumb against his jugular notch. “金色的絲線依然環繞著這個房間.”
(The golden threads still surround this room.)
Stelle hesitated at Dan Heng’s warning. Aglaea kept an immaculate network to supervise Okhema through her golden threads. She could be privy to any conversation and any occurrence when she pleased. It served both its benefits and detriments, specifically to both the Nameless’ aims.
Speaking in tongues was never a talent of hers anyway.
“Perhaps, I can use Cloudhymn to obfuscate them but… I don’t know how much time we can stall before she realizes,” Dan Heng suggested.
She nodded anyway. Perhaps, she could be allowed a little bit of rebellion at this point.
Niftily, Dan Heng summoned the waters from the pool with a flick of his hand. leading them across the frieze with astute sentience. The threads hid amongst the palisades and columns, glistening as Cloudhymn sheathed its intricate filaments. Stelle sighed, though its purpose was equivocal.
“Mem suggested that I take the trial for Oronyx’s Coreflame,” she admitted. “Lady Aglaea—everyone for the matter—thinks it’s the best choice.”
Dan Heng’s brows furrowed. A familiar ire flared within him, simmering in his chest. “Are you actually considering it?”
“You sound like you’re bothered by this.”
“I am. Very much.”
A long, shaky inhale filled the uncomfortable silence that followed. Stelle craned her neck up, staring at the sophisticated threads that filled the gaps amid the colonnades, linking them together in a seamless tapestry. They stretched outside the chamber, connected with branching threads that travelled as far as the distant temples dedicated to Mnestia along the mountain range. If not for Dan Heng’s Cloudhymn magic, they would not have revealed themselves in their majesty.
Golden accents, just as her eyes were, blinded her. Her lips quivered as she scrounged for any semblance of coherence.
“What concerns me is that you’ll further bind yourself to Amphoreus,” Dan Heng continues, his voice increasing in gravity with each word. “If you assume the Titan’s divinity, do you believe you’ll be able to lay it down again? Or better yet, do you think this world’s laws will allow you to?”
At her indifference, his tolerance severely decayed. “What if I can’t get you out? What if you’ll be trapped here? Do you realize what can happen to you?” he snapped.
“Haven’t you considered that I may have already considered the risks? That I may have been thinking of a way to mitigate whatever problems it may cause for us down the line?” Stelle retorted, palpably provoked by the cryptic implications she derived. She did not find them auspicious as well. However, Dan Heng’s countenance furrowed, plagued by her persisting ambivalence.
“So, you are thinking of accepting it?” he construed.
“I haven’t made a decision,” Stelle insisted. She was evidently exhausted. Each word that came out of her throat sounded coerced with hefty air.
Dan Heng did not seem convinced. “But you think you can do it,” he denoted, knowing her propensities. At her lack of reply, he was certain. “You saw what happened to those who took the trial before you.”
“I know—"
“But clearly, the risks are not enough to outweigh everything else?”
Stelle could not answer. Instead, she stared blankly with barely a modicum of façade. Dan Heng saw it—her pallid complexion and jaded eyes. It made him pause. The creases on his face evened until it smoothened. Guilt crept in, coiling around his heart with horrid thorns. Antipathy was futile. His tact was amiss.
In one swift stroke, he lifted the spell he casted onto the threads, dispelling the water into the air as vapor. Then, he traversed across the room with encumbered steps, weighing on his own faults. Dan Heng kneeled before Stelle, seeking her gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning closer. “I didn’t understand how difficult of a position this must be for you.”
Again, he gained no response. He expected as much. Conscience struck as lethal maws pitting against his being. Witnessing how such gallantry could be beleaguered into inertia upset him. It did not feel just. “Stelle,” he called softly, enveloping her hand in his.
“I haven’t decided, Dan Heng,” she reiterated. Her voice was weak just as her words had been dithering.
He nodded, with better discernment. Gingerly, he reached for the thick strands of ashen hair that curtained her face before brushing them behind her ear, revealing her vulnerability to him. “Take all the time you need to decide,” he replied. “We’ll deal with the consequences when the time comes but for now, my concern is you.”
Imminently, she glanced his way. Dan Heng released a bated breath. “I realize now, that at this point, this is probably a fate that the Trailblaze can’t evade,” he added.
Stelle leaned against his touch. “I’m sorry for making things difficult for you too,” she muttered.
“No need for that,” he dismissed her concerns, appeasing her qualms. A sharp exhale heaved between them. “No matter what happens, I’ll be right there with you.”
Immediately, the Vidyadhara lifted himself up and sat beside her on the klinē. “Come here,” he mumbled, pulling her figure into his arms. His hand settled on her head, tucking her safely in his refuge. Gradually, the tension left Stelle’s body until she fell limp against him.
“We’ll be fine,” he reassured her.
Stelle raised her weary hands, grasping at his coat, anchoring herself into this fleeting sanctuary. Her eyes fluttered close as stupor lulled her. Perhaps, she could be allowed this semblance of peace for a short while.
“Whatever your decision is, I’ll make sure that we’ll come out fine,” he continued as his fingers entwined with the soft strands of her hair. “I’ll fight for it if I have to.”
Usually, Stelle was used to breathing flimsy supplies of air in a stifling, enclosed space. When surrounded by a vacuum, air became a privilege—not a right. Shackled in freedom, shared spaces were always a compromise, never a prerogative. Though it remained uncomfortable, circumstances coerced acclimation. The woman knew where to look, when to speak, and how to conduct herself. It came scripted, usually. Seconds were counted as precaution. She remembered fragments of indifference, measured steps graced with frigidity. They retained—a muscle memory that kept itself oblique—however, Dan Heng’s protuberant presence made her breath hitch. Thin but heavy, it suffocated until she choked. Stelle had to muffle any noise of discomfort lest he noticed. Vacuity became a mere wish, not a looming threat. Although, the strain was taking its toll.
Stelle bit her bottom lip again.
Briefly, she glanced his way, watching as her companion navigated across the harrowing mausoleum below. His hands were still getting used to the thrusters. He only learned to calibrate it just now. And yet, they seemed so weary—proficient. Jagged talons coiled around the titanium with ease. Stelle held another breath when he moved them subtly. The ship curbed. She sighed.
Her eyes shifted, curiosity gnawing at the tip of her tongue. The sharp tusks on his head, golden and resplendent. Unlike his other numinous form, it was palpable. They exuded eminence, befitting the demigod of Earth. And yet, it never eclipsed his grave, but tender eyes. It breathed life into her withering soul, as nature would to a wilted stalk. As soon as she woke up, Dan Heng had captivated her once more.
And since their reunion, the words became stuck on her lips; never uttered, never evoked. Asking at this time is inappropriate, especially with the urgent nature of their mission. The whirr of the engines pierced the stillness. It echoed hauntingly. Instead, Stelle kept her eyes forward as long as she could. Distractions would only be detrimental, she kept telling herself.
“Is something wrong, Stelle? Are you feeling alright?” Dan Heng asked, unprompted. His eyes remained on the windscreen, responsible as always.
Stelle released her lip and cleared her throat, “you worry too much,” she dismissed his concerns just as easily.
“I’m always worried,” he replied. “After what you’ve been through all these years.”
The woman shook her head in response even though Dan Heng could not see. Her gaze fell to her feet instead. Biting her gums, she stretched her feet once more. The paresthesia had subsided but she could still feel it faintly. Her gait was slower and her equilibrium was abysmal. Her boots only reverberated her plight with every step.
Fortunately, her companion accepted her silence as a reply. Dan Heng still knew her well—even after time eclipsed for lifespans. Her chest twinged at the comforting thought.
She could only grip the armrest of the chair momentarily before her own strength failed her. The mask she wore, built from silence, was shattering easily.
“We can talk after everything is done,” Stelle reassured him.
It was the best consolation she could propose. Dan Heng merely nodded, accepting her suggestion with reluctance. Sighing, his grip on the thrusters loosened. On the monitor, the panel trilled softly. They have arrived at their destination.
His fingers glided along the control panel, swiftly flicking switches and pressing buttons to initiate their landing process. It was gradual—careful. Dan Heng was relying solely on guesswork. Reflexively, Stelle clutched the overhead, maintaining her balance in the incommodious seat she was in.
Once the ship landed, Dan Heng began flicking switches again. The engine died down, dispelling steam from its vents. The Vidyadhara revolved and reached for Stelle, concern bleeding from his eyes.
“Are you alright?” he asked again. He kept asking the same question too many times.
“I’m fine,” and she kept answering every time. “Hardly the first time we crashed.”
Dan Heng scowled—and for good reason too. Stelle laughed it off, as per usual. But, it was the easiest type of response. It felt normal.
He knew it well enough. The visage was only a mere echo. A faded light that could only reach far enough to imprint a flicker after it was exhausted.
“Stay behind me. If anything happens, run back to this ship and flee,” Dan Heng told her. There was a protest forming in her tongue; her eyes held the admirable defiance he was gravely familiar with—it made his chest ache. The Vidyadhara held her hand tightly to appease her. “The book holds the most importance right now,” he added as a reminder.
“I’m not leaving you again,” Stelle replied.
“Only you have access to the book. Your life is as much valued,” Dan Heng argued. “Besides, I have authority over the Earth which makes it an even fight.”
“Now you’re just flexing,” Stelle huffed. Nonetheless, he never had humor to begin with. Consigning to his request, she nodded. “Alright, fine.”
Satisfied with her answer, Dan Heng moved to open the hatches of the ship, allowing them to dismount. The endless expanse of columns only stretched farther as his eyes could see. It felt daunting to stare at them for so long. He turned to Stelle, watching as she followed behind him, equally as astonished with the grandeur of the unfamiliar architecture.
Their measured steps only became glaring with each clamorous echo. Disturbed, Stelle barely lifted her feet off the ground to reduce the rhythmic noise. She gripped the seams of her jacket tightly as her gaze roamed across the escarpments below. An endless abyss must be awaiting. She grit her teeth to avoid any unnecessary thoughts. Meanwhile, Dan Heng kept his focus on what was ahead—a steep path led to a junction with an elevated platform engraved with runes. He stretched his arm, offering his hand to his companion.
“The path ahead looks too risky,” he noted. “We must tread carefully from here on out. Stay with me.”
Stelle took his hand. She was already struggling to maintain a steady gait with her numb thighs. Dan Heng had already noticed her struggle by now and yet, kept his silence for her own sake.
As they traversed the illuminated path, faint images bathed in pure light flitted along the air. Transcendent in its radiance, its gleam carried an exuberance of colors, nocuous to causality. Stelle found herself holding her breath. Its luminescence was haunting, brilliantly distracting. Deceit was still lurking in the crevices, awaiting its opportunity. She never trusted a deafening stillness.
Reassurance meant constricting his grip against Dan Heng’s hand. It was mostly his armor, however. There was no solace in it. The Vidyadhara glanced her way, alerted with her subtlety. The grimace she wore was glaring, fuelling his unease. Tension impended, prancing with imminence. It insisted on deriding his acuity.
“Then, the sky sent down rainbows and showed the world a gentle smile…”
A familiar voice echoed across the chamber. Dan Heng halted abruptly as the silhouette of a young Cyrene, hazy but disparate from the loitering effulgence, emerged. Stelle watched as the whilom demigod narrated the last remaining passages of the book with enthusiasm. Each word carried a hopeful plea, ensconced from millions of similar entreaties. They need no further supplication apart from a transitory glance.
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Dan Heng finally directed his gaze forward. Reveries often reflected woeful images. The past was riddled in tragedy he could never surmise.
“Looks like it’s time to say goodbye again,” the silhouette reverberated softly. “Before I was even aware of it, this book had already recorded too many emotions. Every page has become so heavy.”
Stelle pressed her lips together tightly. So, it was not just me, she thought grimly. Heft used to be inconsequential until she stumbled upon the enigmatic book. Sentiment gnawed on her like a virus, transcribed upon her soul.
“I have started to feel uneasy whenever I take it into my hands…” Cyrene continued.
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“How many times has it been?”
And the Deliverer could not help but wonder too. A year became an epoch with a mere blink. As she closed her eyes, another thousand trounced on her fragile existence. Her consciousness was deemed a warfare, trifled for baleful means, rendering her as a static signal wedged amid mortality. Stelle could feel Dan Heng’s hand squeeze hers, hauling her from the lark of dread. He knew it too.
“If I can only write the same ending every time I lift my pen, then is this weighty saga just an overly naive dream?”
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>>> Process error: Analyzing…
The automated voice grated her ears as it reiterated several times.
“Really, are you… encouraging me?”
Dawning glimpses of the truth elapsed. Cyrene’s silhouette became fainter. Stelle drew closer to the image on instinct. Dan Heng released her hand, watching their environment with an acute glare. The hazy images continued to echo along this derelict oblivion.
“Everyone is working so hard. If I’m the only one crying… that wouldn’t be romantic at all, would it?” Cyrene’s voice held great compassion. Stelle missed hearing her unbridled optimism. “Thank you for listening to me all this time. So, shall we continue?”
>>> Formatting complete.
“Even Cyrene could not resist despair when faced with eternal stasis,” Dan Heng remarked, furthering her frown. Though the woes of the past were presumed, it never negated their gravity. The consequences only became dire as a result.
“Who exactly was this Cyrene talking to?” Stelle pondered instead.
Dan Heng approached her. “In the way she talked, it didn’t sound like praying to a god at all,” he said.
“That wouldn’t explain the process error,” she added. An egregious issue, indeed.
The Vidyadhara sighed, “no matter who that listener is, Cyrene’s storytelling is just a data stream for the Scepter.” His voice became notably softer, compassionate. “Maybe, she thought, as long as she kept tossing drift bottles into the distance, someone was bound to pick one up someday.”
As I’ve Written materialized from ether space, occupying her vision. Its pages were worn, some even frayed. Attestations gathered in writing, establishing history in one cohesive narrative. Stelle held it into her hands however, its bulk easily strained her arms. Much of her strength has yet to return to her.
>>> Accessing: Recurrence #3335077.
A dubitable glow from the scepter spread throughout the grandiose chamber and the ground shook. The rune of Strife etched itself on the floor. Dan Heng caught Stelle’s back as a reflex before she fell and crouched down. The platform they stood on remained intact, however noticeable fissures dispersed.
>>> Access denied.
Stelle retrieved her lance. The power of Preservation surged throughout her body, fueling her weapon. Just as she established a barrier, only then did she realize that Dan Heng had already established one of his own to protect them both.
She forgot—he was treading on Preservation now as well. Suddenly, a gigantic mechanism crawled from the depths below, piercing the platform with the tip of its weapon. Stelle barely dodged, swiveling towards the opposite end. She could hear Dan Heng calling out for her, panicked from the separation.
Hastily, Stelle conjured her bat. Destruction urged her to lunge and subdue the enemy, whispering its sinister allusions in her ear. She winced. Gritting her teeth, she resisted. However, the momentary distraction proved its adverse consequences too soon. The figure, resembling the titan Nikador, swung its claymore, sweeping across the platform. Unable to conjure a barrier in time, she faced the strike with a swing of her own bat. A clamorous roar erupted. Her opportune parry nicked the blade and disoriented the titan’s imitation, providing Dan Heng the window to summon his dragons to pierce the machination. However, in the midst of the turmoil, Stelle lost her balance once more. With all of the strength in her arms gone, she struggled to latch onto the ruptured marble.
The fragmented platform started to collapse. Stelle shrieked as the ground she stood on crumbled. Swiftly, Dan Heng swiftly maneuvered through the wreckage. His hand reached for her, along with his tail, coiling around her figure before reeling her in. Dan Heng staggered with the abrupt influx of weight but was able to gain footing.
A small remnant of the platform remained from the struggle. Dan Heng sighed heavily in relief once the dust cleared.
Meanwhile, Stelle was acutely apprised by the thick tail coiled tautly around her waist. His hand ascended from her back to her head, carding along her thick, ashen locks to anchor her.
“Are you alright?” Again with that question.
“Yeah,” she stammered albeit weakly. Her voice was muffled by his clothes.
The sharp exhale that followed made her recoil. “You broke our agreement—twice,” he remarked. However, it was difficult to heed him due to his tail cinching her waist. “I told you to stay with me. You didn’t. I told you to escape with the book and you didn’t as well.”
Stelle bit her lips, muffling any shameful sound from escaping.
“Next time,” he said as he gently lifted her chin so their gazes meet, “remember them, for your safety.”
Soft breaths filled the air. Coherency collapsed into ripples. Tranquility was kept at bay. The gloom was only alleviated with a crepuscular glow. It flickered but never waned, an incandescence betraying clandestine adjurations. Saccharine, sweltering—a torrid tempest brought about a deluge, drowning verisimilitude from this milieu to expose confuted maxims. A climax; a consummation of covets. Underneath the gleam only laid ardor, vulnerable and astir. Dan Heng sought his reprieve. Eloquent shifts beguile zeal. Stelle reached for him with a feeble hand.
He pulled her into him, settling her body atop his into a comfortable embrace. Her arm hung loosely across his torso, lethargic and spent. Another sharp breath broke through the tension. The woman lifted her head and caught a glimpse of his dissipating smile. A flimsy one yet, undeniable.
The waves return to stillness, yet its current persisted. It all flowed back to him. Stelle nuzzled into his skin, seeking his solace.
Dan Heng retrieved the blanket at the edge of the bed, displaced from their fervency. Pillows strewn on the floor, his own avidity made him flustered. The tips of his pointed ears became a faint hue of scarlet.
Clearing his throat, he murmured, “I’ll wash your sheets.”
“Ignore that,” Stelle mumbled. “Do it later.” She was well aware of the state of her bed—and her desk, by extent—disheveled, much like herself. Her books and documents were askew, flipped open on random pages as they laid haphazardly on the floor. Finally, her pens have strewn to inaccessible nooks. It would take considerable effort to retrieve them. Instead, she held him tightly, discouraging him from moving. Dan Heng eyed her briefly, before acquiescing. He laid comfortably on the bed, using one of the throw pillows that remained on the bed (against all odds) to place underneath his head.
“As you wish.”
Her eyes fluttered close, relishing the silence, something she was not used to. The feeble reeling that tethered in between the consciousness did not alarm her anymore. Time eclipsed beyond her cognizance, lulling her into deep slumber. Throughout that interminable reticence, Stelle never moved. The soft sound of her breathing remained.
Scorching heat simmered in the interstices, cradling a hearth that is impervious to entropy. It permeated in Dan Heng’s skin, enveloping him in assurance. True in its existence, verity held his tenacity—a testament to his fortitude.
So in this interim, his embrace was unyielding.
Perhaps, it took time but eventually, the fleeting twining broke. Stelle inhaled sharply as she roused, eyes snapping open as her breath hitched. The abruptness was familiar and disgruntling all the same. Alerted, Dan Heng’s hand went to her back, soothing her gently, conscientious with her unease. He had witnessed these spontaneous responses since their prolonged cohabitation in Amphoreus. Moments of tranquil repose fragmented by her autonomic reflex. Stelle sighed heavily.
“Are you alright? What happened?” he asked.
She shook her head, dismissing his concerns. “I’m fine,” she replied, “this is nothing new.”
Dan Heng’s brows furrowed. He knew it well. “Nightmares?”
“No,” Stelle murmured, “it’s just been like this ever since.”
“I see,” he muttered, tilting his head. Dan Heng brushed back the damp locks that stuck to her forehead, exposing the sheen of her citrine orbs. Stelle smiled faintly as their gaze met.
“You look like you want to ask more,” she remarked.
Dan Heng did not need to refute her remark. He simply ruminated upon it. “I want to but I know you will only either deflect or shrug,” he said. Despite the bluntness of his words, his actions proved otherwise, carding his fingers through her hair to fix the knots, dutifully ignoring the sweat that clung to his fingers as a result.
Amused, Stelle chuckled, “you seem to know me well enough.” However, the laughter ceased just as abruptly. A beat of silence followed before, “I want to know what you think about it.”
He paused, contemplating her request. The Vidyadhara studied her once more, finding earnestness beneath her frisky smile. In response, he leaned closer, placing his lips on her forehead. “You don’t need to hear what I think about it,” he replied. “What I want is for you to get a good, undisturbed rest.”
Carefully, he peeled himself off from Stelle’s embrace and sat on the bed.
Stelle shifted slightly, bothered by his withdrawal. “Are you busy?” she asked.
“Not particularly,” Dan Heng replied as he retrieved his turtleneck. “I finished the logs earlier.”
“So, where are you going?”
Dan Heng glanced at her momentarily, “I’m going to fix your desk while you try to go to sleep.”
“I’d prefer it if you stayed in bed with me,” she huffed.
The sharp breath that reverberated softly spoke more than it should. Stelle had to hide her grin beneath the sheets. “I don’t like anyone coming in here to see the mess we’ve made,” even saying those words made Dan Heng’s ears redder. Even with the dim lights, Stelle could discern it. She laughed again.
Seeing her amusement, despite his chagrin, was fulfilling. Circumspection was painstaking. Its intricacy would eventually take its toll. Stelle’s quietude was disquiet in of itself. Harrowing emprises reduced to facsimile happenstance—simply a rationale for phenomena—was discourteous. Importunate kismets regressed to bureaucratic concessions were toilsome. With little room left to breathe, healing was only a matter of how, not when. Dan Heng, at the very least, found it heartening that he could draw out a semblance of what she was before.
“Will it really be okay for you to stay?” Stelle asked as she pulled the sheets to tuck herself in. Burrowed into the bed, the warmth seeped into her skin. Drowsily she yawned and took her time. Tenderly, Dan Heng's finger reached for the stray lock on the corner of her mouth that fell, gathering them behind her ear.
“They would’ve already called my beacon if they needed me,” Dan Heng replied.
Though obscured by the blanket, the lilt to her voice was difficult to amiss. “Am I hearing that right? You wanna be cooped up with me for longer?” her voice was muffled but its impact did not diminish. Dan Heng, though slightly flushed, maintained eye contact. Citrine orbs glimmered with mischief.
“I have missed you,” he admitted.
Her eyes widened. Clearly, she did not expect him to utter such words. Momentarily, she was stunned, disoriented by the sudden admission. She closed her mouth and chewed on her bottom lip. Eventually her gaze shifted elsewhere, though it was difficult to pry herself away from his kind, benthic eyes. Her chest stirred, an ignition for a cathexis of disparate sentiments. Meanwhile, in the midst of her plight, Dan Heng scooted towards the edge of the bed to retrieve the rest of his clothes.
As he made himself decently presentable, Stelle lifted herself from the sheets. Her tousled hair, molded from pleasure, only became more apparent. The blanket was still wrapped around her figure, Dan Heng had made sure of it.
“You’ve changed, Dan Heng,” she remarked.
Her choice of words were almost absurd. Dan Heng returned with a faint smile, one more fleetingly than the last. “Sleep, Stelle,” he reiterated. “I’ll work quietly so I won’t disturb you.”
However, Stelle was never inclined to listen. She wrapped her arms around her folded legs and watched as the Vidyadhara vacated the bed to accomplish what he intended to do. He circumvented the bed and started picking up the mess on the floor, starting with her clothes—the white shirt, the black brassiere, and skirt she always wore—and placed them on the footstool. Then, it was the pillows which buried the books underneath. Dan Heng skimmed a page. He recognized the texts. After all, most of these books were borrowed from the Archives.
“If Ms. Himeko or March tried finding you, how long until they’d figure out that you’ve been spending nights here?” Stelle asked.
“Didn’t I tell you to sleep?”
“Yeah, but I’d rather watch you work,” she hummed, resting her cheek on her knee.
Dan Heng sighed. Of course, she would not listen. It was her penchant from the very beginning.
“I think…” he decided to humor her. Dan Heng was never presented with a choice in these situations regardless. He lifted himself up from a crouched position as he pondered. “I think everyone already knows.”
“Everything?”
“Yes,” Dan Heng confirmed while organizing the books on the bookends.
“And how do you feel about it?” Stelle asked, concerned. “Should we lessen these… meetings?”
“I don’t mind it actually,” Dan Heng replied.
Stelle’s forehead creased, astonished that he would assert such a notion. With scrutiny, she bit her lip as she watched Dan Heng working on organizing her desk. As the documents slid into their respective folders and the pens returned to the rack, she ruminated carefully on his words. Certitude filled her heart. The churn in her stomach returned and it felt like a reflux. Her chest throbbed, yearning to reach out, to implore contact.
But, knowing him, he would give in without reservation. Stelle took her shirt and slipped into the consolation of clothing and crawled out of bed. Her feet led her to him, regardless of her weak legs. Dan Heng immediately took notice and paused to shift his attention to her.
“Is something wrong?”
She took the book in his hand and settled it on the desk, freeing him from anything that could impede his touch. “Come back to bed with me.”
When he was about to protest, she added, “I missed you too.” And that was all she needed to say.
Without prelude, he leaned in to kiss her. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands toying with the hair on his nape to entice him. Meanwhile, he tugged her close until there was no space left in between and secured her frame into his, assuring his own miserly being that she would not evanesce into an agonizing dream—a time that folded into lifetimes; keen daylight, bleak fogs, and abiding nights for such fragile chance.
Nonetheless, the dredge was worth the destination. Here, in his arms—this love surpassed opulence. It meant everything.
“I cut the signal.”
Sunday and Stelle shifted their gaze from the monitor and onto their companion. The detective’s brows were furrowed as rigidly well as them. Strange—Sunday tilted his head, perplexed. It would seem that the detective shared their frustration but not their restraint. Neither sympathy nor disquiet could be ascertained. Nothing could be gained from baseless commiserations. As far as they were concerned, they were only contestants of a mordant game of oblique morals—strangers without obligation. Those leaden orbs merely observe, but everything was otherwise.
Nonetheless, the tension in Sunday’s tight grip loosened, replaced by curiosity.
“She kept repeating herself, so I figured I’d make her shush,” Ashveil explained. Though dismissive, the relief in Stelle’s chest casted her qualms aside. She was able to look up without the distinct acrid taste of shame slithering down her throat.
“Thank you,” Sunday bowed curtly. He sounded exhausted as well. The Halovian glanced at Stelle momentarily and their eyes met. It felt reassuring enough.
In his peripheral vision, it was difficult to disregard the chaos that besieged the floor. Bodies laid haphazardly, indeterminate of life. Atop the counters, the benches, or the carpeted surfaces, testimony spoke of disregard vociferously. Life had gathered here once, brimming and enthusiastic. Scrutiny, as superficial it may be, have deduced plenty. So much struggle ensued—bags strewn about, beacons shattered; signs and posters, collapsed and torn; ruptured planters and; benches cleft. Sunday could use his tuning however; it would only be a waste of his energy.
Mortality was apparent enough.
His stomach pitted, however. Stelle, having sensed his unease, came from behind him and placed a hand on his forearm.
“Isn’t it a little too quiet?”
Ashveil tipped his hat to obscure his vision briefly. The eyes were a distraction. Nevertheless, he could determine an ill. It lingered, inert but alarming. The faint sensation ticked on his afflicted arm, much foreboding. His teeth gritted.
“Careful,” the detective said. He scanned the extent of the damage once again, convincing himself of possible conjectures. Specificities allude to him still. He could only conclude little with overwhelming indications. “There’s something on this floor. And it’s a big one too.”
Stelle’s grip tautened briefly. Sunday sighed inaudibly. Then, she released him, following after Ashveil. She kept her silence all this while however, the Halovian did not need tuning to conclude how the woman had only been tolerating everything happening thus far.
They sauntered across the floor with utmost caution. Sunday still refused to look upon the flayed bodies, keeping his gaze fixed on either Stelle or Ashveil to curb his discomfort. Dreams were too much of a solace; a veil for truth.
“The Magical Girl troupe that got here before us…” Ashveil noted the long string of casualties on the red carpet, blood indistinguishable from the rich, velvet fabric. An ominous welcoming, pervaded with contempt, perhaps. Lithe with revile, a graceless departure reduced their flair to derision. It painted a gushing red. “They’ve also been taken by Fulwish. What a shame.”
They continued through that trodden path. Dishonor only awaited when turning back. Stelle cannot curtail her rage anymore, filling her fingertips with the urge of Destruction. Blinded with seething crimson, ineptitude simmered in her stomach. This sentiment never forsook her susceptibilities. Often, resentment became heavy in her chest. The Stellaron kept coaxing her everyday through indiscernible whispers. They would murmur incessantly, until now, as she treaded through the malodor. It was evident in her expression. Sunday had never seen it before, even when he was still the Nameless’ enemy, and it troubled him immensely. Meanwhile, Ashveil did not speak of it, even when he caught a glimpse. Instead, he exhaled sharply. Nonetheless, Stelle could not spare him a transitory distraction.
Finally, at the end of the corridor were elephant doors to the main stage studio, loose from its hinges and stuck in its threshold. More remains filled the area—Magical Girl troupes, security guards, and Fulwish’s macabre creations, the Joy Ascendants. It was difficult to distinguish them from one another. Gradients of red adorn the floor as its loathed masterpiece. Ashveil inhaled sharply, his nose crumpling in response.
“We’ll have to force our way through,” he said.
Stelle went ahead, calm in stride, and her bat in hand. Now, the detective finally decided he ought to say something. “Hey, little lady—” his attempt was futile though. The Nameless woman had shattered the elephant doors with a mere swing, leaving rubbles for debris as it collapsed on the floor. The deafening clang made Sunday flinch and Ashveil frown. The latter could surmise Destruction playing in her fingers, jeering and dancing in revelry. She sauntered inside, still unperturbed, yet her fury carried a hefty weight with each step.
Before they could awe in the woman’s unfiltered temper, the sight of Joy Ascendants piling around the sound stage was aggravating, shifting their focus. Bathed in the studio’s vivid lights, a massacre became fixtures, undifferentiated from tragedy and set pieces. Stelle acutely observed. Amidst these limp carcasses was a singular figure standing; their weapon tucked in underneath their arm, fractured but immaculate. Tranquil as they stood, impervious to the foul stench that smothered the room. Sunday almost gagged as he caught its waft when he entered the studio.
Stelle remained composed, eyes fixated upon the figure. However, her countenance steeply calmed once the dust fully dissipated. “Bladie…” she mumbled, barely heard. Nonetheless, it was the first word she uttered after a long while.
Blade’s eyes shifted, turning to her. He was neither alarmed nor vigilant. Stelle remembered—the script. Perchance this was preordained then, she need not be concerned.
Conversely, it did not bode well for her companions. “You—!"
Ignoring the detective, Blade stood there, unassuming and indifferent. Stelle’s stiffened grip on her bat loosened, tension drained from her. There came dejection. The Stellaron Hunter had yet to regard her.
“True enough, with how things are, how could you possibly remain unaffected?” Critical were the scrutiny in the detective’s eyes. Ashveil interposed ahead of the Nameless woman, wary of conflict. Hostility did not choose its thespians; rather, it incited twines by a cavalier spur. It pitted but never meshed. With his cane in hand, Ashveil called upon the smolders of his power. “Old friend, are you Yingxing now or Shuhu?”
The figure finally glanced his way and sighed. “I am Blade,” he responded curtly, drawling on his words as usual. The reminder was sufficient to gauge. Still, despite the guarantee, the ache in his head persisted. Blade placed pressure on his forehead to curb the throbbing. “You seem to underestimate my resolve, La Mancha.”
That placated the apprehensions in the detective just as quickly. Withdrawing his cane, the detective cleared his throat. “That’s all I wanted to ask. Just making sure,” Ashveil muttered over to Stelle, much to her exasperation.
“If it would quell anyone doubts, perhaps I could—"
“There’s no need to confirm anything. We can trust him.”
Turning about, the familiar voice came from the threshold. Dan Heng stood there, Cloudpiercer in hand—the tip was stained red and still dripping. Sunday could finally release his bated breath.
To their surprise, Stelle suddenly dashed across the studio. Her bat dissipated into ether space, freeing her hands from any unnecessary burden. Dan Heng did not need to search for Stelle amidst the disarrayed studio anymore. Despite the flamboyant lights, her citrine orbs were beacons, coaxing him to relief. The austerity in his expression diminished into a soft smile. Stelle, too, was able to relinquish her fraught and wrath. It surged with the ebb and flow, freed, only to drown.
She beamed in his presence.
Dan Heng’s arms extended, catching her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. She ignored the faint smell of musk and singed flesh for the comfort of an embrace. Cloudpiercer dispersed. He reciprocated keenly, tucking her figure into his own. Longing to touch her, he placed his hand over her head to placate any remaining apprehensions.
Baffled, Ashveil could only stare. Meanwhile, Blade examined the interaction with judicious eyes hidden underneath his fringes.
“I missed you so much,” Stelle muttered into his skin.
The smile on his face bloomed. He hid it well within the strands of her ashen locks. “Sorry, it took me some time to get upstairs,” Dan Heng replied. However, Stelle shook her head, dissuading him from needless apologies. They only warranted assurances. She withdrew just enough to see his face. In this fleeting moment, warmth had filled her, mesmerizing him. Hallowed by her enamored charm, it permeated through his skin. It was a countenance that only he recognized—that only he had the privilege of witnessing. Endearing a thought; enthralling indications—such can only be provoked by her.
“Don’t apologize,” she said, gradually withdrawing from the embrace. His hands felt cold once more.
Sunday cleared his throat, announcing his protrusion. Instinctively, the Vidyadhara maneuvered, concealing her from view. “Dan Heng, it’s good that you managed to find us,” the Halovian remarked in spite of it.
Upon realization, Dan Heng relaxed. “I ran into Ms. Himeko who told me to come help you,” he replied, gaze still fixated on Stelle. It did not escape everyone else’s notice. “When I heard a loud crash, I knew I was heading in the right direction.”
If not for the Stellaron Hunter wincing from his throbbing headache, Dan Heng would have still kept his gaze on her.
As Stelle swallowed the last drops of her cocktail, Sunday passed her by. He waved his hand, quite shyly. Underneath the warm, amber lights that trickled from the girandole, she basked in the joviality of their little occasion. The reflection of the whiskey bottles coalesced with the color of her eyes, concealing the weariness that corroded her mien. Sparse it was, the room to breathe without the prickle of compunction. For once, the thin air did not consume all the space—an inconsequential, meager carbon meandered aimlessly. Stelle lifted the glass close to her face, deciding on whether or not to help herself with another serving.
Perhaps, this was a true reprieve. The ability to worry about what to drink.
Aimlessly, her mind wandered. An extemporaneous kaleidoscope of hazy images and monochromatic colors crowded her vision. Quite bland but compelling, nonetheless. At least her curiosity was satisfied.
She was still deciding anyway.
Glancing over to where her jacket was perched haphazardly, Stelle rested her cheek on her palm as she gazed with scrutiny. Taken aside, Stelle could finally review its new tears. They were minuscule and subtle from afar, hardly unworthy of scrutiny. Although, they accumulated excessively at an alarming rate. She sighed, dismayed by its current condition. Repairs could only do so much.
Perchance, maybe Kafka or Silver Wolf could tell her where she got it.
She vacated the stool, retrieved her jacket, and headed over to where Shush was usually stationed. However, Himeko was sitting there instead, sipping her own drink—whatever concoction it might be. The Navigator’s presence was already enough to solidify her decision.
One glass was enough.
When she approached, the Navigator had taken notice. The latter welcomed her with an eager smile. “Just in time. Stelle,” she beamed, which struck fear across Stelle’s skin. “I've talked to Madam Pearl. She will handle all the arrangements for your passage, so you can enter the World in Canvas to find my ancestor Graphia.”
Oh, Stelle had to stifle her sigh of relief. “When should I set off?” she asked.
Himeko frowned. Though faint, it tugged on Stelle’s conscience. “Actually, I hoped you could take some time to rest first,” the Navigator expressed.
“Ah,” Stelle chuckled sheepishly. She scratched her cheek—a mannerism. “If… time allows it.”
“Just for the night, at least,” Himeko insisted. “Once you've fully rested, you may make your way to the dock in Seafeld City.”
Ashen hair fell over Stelle’s eyes as she lowered her head.
“Madam Pearl has a special ship waiting for you there,” Himeko continued. “It will take you to ‘Inkford Hermitage.’ That's your final stop before entering the World in Canvas.”
Just the thought of travelling to an unfamiliar world was already disconcerting, to do it alone was daunting. And it was too soon. Still, Stelle wanted to ask, “Miss Himeko, you're not coming with me?”
It was not in her intention to make the Navigator feel guilty although, it was unavoidable. Himeko’s concern for each Nameless knew no bounds. “I’m sorry, Stelle,” and she meant every word.
The forced laugh that left Stelle’s lips was only knocking at Himeko’s conscience.
“I know you'll have to go alone again this time, and believe me, I want to accompany you on this journey…”
Stelle pouted, albeit playfully.
“But I don't think it'll be dangerous. After all, that realm was created by Graphia, my ancestor,” Himeko lifted Stelle’s chin with her curled finger. Tickled, Stelle’s sheepish smile assuaged the Navigator. Then. the latter mused, “the thought of it makes me feel calm, in a strange but comforting way. If you get to meet her, please give her my regards."
“When you put it like that, Miss Himeko, it’s impossible for me to mope,” Stelle bemoaned, holding Himeko’s hand with her own. The doting gesture, much to Himeko’s delight, felt pleasant to the touch. She squeezed the callused palm, allowing its body protrusion to mold her own flesh.
She grinned. “Honestly, I am indeed quite curious. I'd love to see this ancestor of mine for myself and hear her story in her own words. But someone must stay here and keep watch,” Himeko sighed. The disappointment was much apparent in her tone. “Everyone already has their roles to fulfill. Madame Pearl wishes to confer with me and General Yao Guang about our next steps in dealing with Asat Pramad.”
“Always on the drawing board,” Stelle huffed.
“Never on presentation,” Himeko finished, albeit with a defeated sigh.
It was rare when Himeko got to laugh along with her. A heartening instance—ephemeral yet, immensely cherished.
“Rest for the night, Stelle. Please,” the Navigator coaxed.
“Alright. For you.”
In Planarcadia’s local time zone, it was the seventeenth hour until it completed its twenty-six-hour axis—exactly a day’s cycle since returning from Seafeld City. The night could still be considered young. But Stelle has yet to adjust. She trudged the stairs to her room, leaving the fizzle that drenched the party car and opting for the repose of her room. As the hubbub gradually faded, the noise that remained was static, rustling clothes, and a wrung mind. It buzzed, indistinguishable from the alcohol and apprehension.
Amidst the landing tread, Stelle abruptly halted. Equanimity came at the sight of a staunch contiguity.
There, he sat on the last flight of stairs, a tablet on one hand and a stylus on the other. Stripped of his usual panoply and coat, the guard seemed serene. He leaned against the railing, unperturbed at the idea of discomfort, in a luculent corner divulged with the cosmos. A dossier of his own accord. Ocean for his eyes; the earth for his body, and; the wind at his fingertips—Dan Heng was submerged in his own world.
Promptly, he took notice. “I was hoping you would come earlier than I anticipated,” Dan Heng said, in lieu of a greeting.
“Did I meet your expectations?” Stelle smirked.
“Yes,” the Vidyadhara’s answer had Stelle scoffing. She rolled her eyes—of course, Dan Heng had calculated the probabilities. However, instead of being offended, her heart leapt with joy. She crossed the last flight of stairs with soundless steps. Dan Heng stood to receive her, bearing genteel. Light and airy, her enthusiasm led her to his welcoming arms.
A satiated hum slipped from her throat. “Have you waited long?”
Dan Heng slid his hand across her back, tracing the contour of her figure. The thick fabric of her shirt was coarse against his callused palm. Still, the hearth she cradled exuded from her skin and through the layers of their clothes. He sighed heavily, relieved to bask in the tepidity that she could only provide. When he reached her nape, her hair got tangled in between his fingers. They coiled and curled, entwined with his whims. The strands were slightly oily, but smooth nonetheless. He found himself fond of the habit of carding through her hair. It seemed to soothe her too.
Transitory it was, against the gear of time; against futility. In the infinitely expanding universe, forces are continuously distended. Distance was necessary. Vain as bane, affixed to kismets they penned, they remained.
“I made myself busy in the while, so you don’t need to worry,” Dan Heng replied.
Stelle released herself from the embrace, though her hands remained tethered to him. “You came to see me off?” she asked.
Dan Heng took a step forward to reduce the intervening distance. “Yes, I heard you were set to leave early tomorrow,” he replied. “We might not be able to cross paths for another long time if so.”
Mischief glimmered in her eyes, her lips—it was too tempting. He was fixated upon them. “Will you miss me again?” she teased.
She was not expecting an answer. Her goal was just to fluster him, to witness the billows of scarlet spread through his skin, to laugh at his furrowed brows and indignant scowl. A cute spectacle to take advantage of his handsome face. A precious memory to cherish. And yet, she was not granted such privilege.
Instead, the corner of his lips tugged upward. Distinct, despite a trifle. Stelle could feel the warmth of a curt exhale, almost a hushed scoff, brush past her nose. It made her breath hitch.
“I would, of course,” Dan Heng replied, without inhibition. “But I will await your successful return. All of us in the Express will.”
Pressing her lips, she opted to linger in her stubbornness. “One of these days, I might not believe your endless confidence in me anymore.” Hardly true, Dan Heng knew that she was only fishing for a reaction, one that he would not indulge in. He shook his head as a response. Stelle grumbled under her breath.
Caressing the fringes that loitered on her face, its brusque tips grazed his skin. Dan Heng could hardly feel them and yet, as they oscillated merrily against his dull skin, he was fascinated. Carefully, he tucked them behind her ear, allowing him to gaze upon her face without interference. “I have enough belief for the both of us,” Dan Heng reminded her. Then, he leaned in to kiss the corner of her mouth.
“I love you.”
“Stay the night?” she blurted.
He stayed there, with his lips hovering above her cheek. Heavy was the air, yet their temperance was frail.
“As you wish.”