Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shulk had practically been bullied into the journey by his best friend, but he ultimately gave in. Though they would lose a few days' time on restoring Colony 9, he recognized the need for it as much as Reyn did. Even as they trekked up through the ether-imbued Tephra Cave, his hands clenched and unclenched, unable to forget the raw, prickly sensation of so many sharp doodads he had engineered from trash into worthwhile machinery. Reyn had helped retie the bandages on his hands earlier in the day, and he hoped their renewed tightness would ensure they finally healed.

They camped out on the edges of the cerulean cavern for the night. Reyn managed a fire, and they sat together before the stars. A cool breeze flickered over the grasses, whistling softly. It still felt strange to look up and no longer see Mechonis before them, rather the rough outline of its fallen body. The stars shone so much brighter now, without the mechanical organism—of sorts—to compete with.

“Reyn,” he called quietly, in case his friend had already fallen asleep.

“Huh.” He blinked, stirred somewhat. His ginger hair was already a mess, his body half cocooned by his sleeping bag.

“What do you think,” Shulk asked, “the stars above us are made of?”

Reyn snorted, already on the verge of sleep again. “I'unno. Ether.”

“I wish they were near enough to observe. I would love to examine a star and learn what energy fuels its—”

“Uh huh. G'night, Shulk.”

Shulk pouted at his friend's sleep-laden form, Reyn's strong arms tented protectively around his head. “What, am I just too interesting for you?”

Reyn mumbled sounds that almost made words. Sighing fondly, Shulk retired as well.

What a wonder it was, that his friends—while separated by so much distance—still shared the same heavens to look upon. He remembered little of their final battle against Klaus, the instances so incredible, so bright, they may as well have blitzed his mind, blinding his memory—but he thought he could sense a closeness to them when he looked up. He recalled Alvis asking him strange questions and smiling at something he labeled Shulk's reassuring naiveté. He could practically taste space rocks in his lungs.

He hadn't seen Alvis since those misshapen memories. He worried. There were too many people to worry about still. He could only pray that his friends had received Reyn's letters, and that they were able enough to walk.

His mind swirled with the constellations overhead, and he slept little. In the morning, Reyn had to practically pull him through the long, thin valley that spilled out into Gaur Plain.

The wind surged against him as they exited the funnel—and it was so cool, so open, the sky so clear—and he had to stop a moment to take it all in. The long grasses swayed and rippled like a pale green sea. Great hill-like armus shuffled about, their footsteps deafening. The ponios neighed and darted across the plains in droves. Fliers whizzed across the sky. Somewhere far above them, over stacked hills and mountainous inclines, he could hear the low howls of volffs. Even now, the tirkins were readying their crude weapons as if they stood any chance of taking down him and Reyn.

Reyn released a low, belly-shaking chortle. “Been so long, man.” He raised his head, gaze full of sky. “Feels like comin' home, in a way.”

The sheer vastness of the Plain entered in through his lungs and filled him to bursting. Shulk could not look enough. It was all so familiar, his first taste of the true girth of this land he called his home, and yet all so different as well. The grasses were longer, the air sweeter. He couldn't find any Mechon drones, then chided himself for even searching. He almost asked Reyn whether they could stop by the refugee camp, but he recalled belatedly that it would be devoid of Sharla's people.

All of their adventures had jumbled up in his head. It had been so much. It was all they could do, after Fiora's death, to charge across the Plain and fuel their journey with the fire of their grief-turned-vengeance. Shulk had hardly given himself the space to process any of it.

“C'mon.” Reyn ruffled his hair. “Let's go, Shulk.”

Shulk struggled—failed—to blink the sleep out of his eyes, then started after him. The wild beasts of the Plain ignored them, as if their maturation over the course of their journey could be smelled by the animals. Just in case, they steered clear of that awful gorilla creature that Reyn jokingly referred to as Territorial Rotbart, whatever that meant. They had run for their lives from that vile thing too many times not to be careful as possible today.

With their supplies rattling on their backs, they trekked through the long, unending wake of plains. They passed sloping hills gutted underneath their grassy tops and exposed to the elements with stalagtites that leered over them like teeth. Steep inclines cast over them, massive shadows. The sun rose and fell around them as they loped across the fields, stopping at a cool lake to splash their faces before hyping one another up for the last leg of the trek.

“Oy, Shulk.” Reyn stretched, arms reaching toward the heavens. “Haven't walked this much in so long. Feels like my legs're gonna snap right off.”

Shulk rolled his eyes. “If I'm managing it, I'm sure you'll be fine.”

“Your legs are short, Shulk, so it's different. You don't have as much muscle to make sore.”

“I don't think that's how it works.”

Reyn huffed. “I'll have to ask the doctor for us once we see her.”

“She might not have any clue what you're saying.”

“Oy!” Reyn could hardly speak, his laughter flowed so deeply. When it ended, he hesitated, fidgeting. “You think she'll make it?”

“Course.” Shulk feigned confidence. “Where else would she be?”

“Right. Right, right.”

They shared a sheepish grin and continued along. The slope inclined as they reached the higher plains, and they avoided sinkholes on their way toward a cliff's edge. Upon reaching the narrow passageway, they breathed in together and slowly shimmied up it, keeping close to the wall. Rock crags broke away under their feet, popping dangerously. Reyn yelped more than once.

But soon enough—wonderfully enough—they had reached the platform. Its shaded surface stretched out before them in welcome, the grass still but for the faintest breeze. Believer's Paradise, Reyn had named it. Shulk let out a relieved sigh upon recognizing it and shucked off his pack to start setting out some of their blankets. Reyn went searching for their cooking materials and very nearly set fire to the entire platform. They upended the majority of their canteen to stop it from spreading.

“You think,” Reyn asked over the fire, once they'd gotten it crackling at a reasonable burn, “they'll remember how to get here?”

Shulk smiled at his idle hands. “I hope they would have corresponded if they did not.” It had taken a great deal of thinking on their parts to settle on this location. Wasn't too far for most of the others, and it lived brightest in Shulk's soul.

Reyn huffed, poked at the fire. Shulk crept over to him and leaned against him. He couldn't school Reyn for his apprehension, not when it thrived just below his own skin.

He helped pass Reyn the ingredients they had gathered on the way here. The juicy broccoli oozed slightly as it cooked, and the spicy cabbage soaked it up. Then they threw in the volff meat and watched it sizzle. Shulk's stomach ached. He couldn't remember the last time he'd sat and actually given himself the time to prepare a meal.

He was so intent on the warm, savory scent that he didn't hear the crunch of footsteps until a voice alighted to them: “Boys! Is this any way to greet me?”

Reyn stood so abruptly that Shulk had to grab the pan before it flipped over. He ran at their intruder, and Shulk glanced up in time to watch her be engulfed by Reyn's embrace. Her head peeked up just over his shoulder, her orange-brown skin flushed, her raven hair a mess.

“Sharla!” Reyn was aghast. “You made it!”

She chuckled softly into his shirt. “It wasn't a far trek.”

“Yeah, but—You could've just not come!”

“And leave poor Shulk to face the brunt of your ridiculousness alone? Not a chance.”

They shared a quiet smile that Shulk had to look away from, his cheeks uncomfortably warm. Then Sharla strode over to him and gave him a hug as well. He tucked his head against her. Her familiar pine-needle scent brushed over him.

“Missed you,” she murmured.

“You, too.” He let out a small breath. “It felt so odd, saying goodbye.”

She hummed in agreement.

After spending so many months together on the road, fueled by the same furious fire, he had felt a part of himself dwindle upon watching her turn her back to them. She'd had a Colony to attend to of her own, and it would have been unfair of them to beg her to stay, but still his heart prickled at her return, as if having received back a missing fragment.

“How is your colony?” Shulk asked, pulling away to tend to the food.

“Lively,” she said, then hesitated. “It's good,” she added. Bit her lip. “Different.”

“I'm sorry, Sharla,” Reyn said. She sat, and he beside her.

“No, no. It's alright. Things are good.” She took his hand, squeezed it fiercely. “We're healing.”

The meat let out a concerning amount of steam, and Shulk squeaked. “R-Reyn! I need your help over here.”

With a whole lot of grumbling, his best friend crawled over and did some fancy flipping, then some more muttering. “Shulk, you are incapable.”

Shulk stared at his hands.

Sharla joined in. “You're just lucky you're such a talented cook, Reyn.”

“And you're lucky to be reaping it!” he snapped.

As the sun dipped down into the horizon, its golden rays washed over them, threading their hair and outlining their faces. So drenched in sunlight, the visages of Shulk's friends burned into his mind, rendering them immortal. How beautiful they were. How precious they always would be to him. Their voices filled with fond mirth as they chatted and Reyn cooked, about legs of their first journey, about how old companions were getting on.

With one helping prepared, Reyn passed out bowls, and they ate heartily. The food burned, seasoned by hot, flavorful spices, and Shulk's eyes teared up in gratitude.

“Never let me forget a meal again,” he begged his friend.

“I'unno if anyone could manage that, Shulk.” Reyn scrunched up his face. “Except Fiora, maybe.”

Silence as they all imagined her whereabouts.

Of course, only one being would dare interrupt such an awkward fizzle in the conversation.

“Friends! Fear not! Heropon has arrived!”

Reyn almost fell over. “Oh no, not him.”

An orange ball of fluff wearing an adorable adventurer's outfit consisting of a hat and vest passed through the overhang and into their sights. The nopon firmly planted his hands at his hips and declared, “Heropon find this landmark fitting for nopon children!”

For... what?

Shulk, Reyn and Sharla all shared a worried glance.

Riki, however, ignored each of them. He clapped his little paws, and two more nopon, smaller than him, entered the area. One was pink. The other, green. They wore outfits similar to Riki's, as if they were his little posse.

“Friends, meet Kino and Nene! Riki's littlepon who went on journey to see friends with him!”

Nene puffed herself up, her pink fur gleaming. “Nene want to hear all the juicy secrets about Dadapon's exploits.” She eyed her father. “Have feeling Dadapon made himself sound bigger than is actually.”

Reyn huffed. “That old fart's full of hot air. Bet you he wrote me entirely out of his story.”

“Reyn!” gasped Riki. “Reyn so cruel to friend!”

“Who you?” Nene asked.

Reyn's face reddened. “Riki!” He surged up to his feet and swung a fist at the Heropon of Makna forest. Riki sidestepped him and smacked his foot with one of his odd fuzzy ears. Reyn toppled like a Mechon. “You—!”

Sharla had cupped her hands over her face and was laughing so hard she trembled. She managed to control herself when her gaze alighted upon the shy green littlepon that cowered a little ways from all the action. She crept over to him, whispered, “What is your name, littlepon?”

“Kino,” he squeaked.

“Aw, c'mere, little Kino.” She held out her arms, and he nervously scooted over to her. He softened as they all did within Sharla's motherly embrace.

Shulk cringed when Reyn's massive shoulder smacked into the pot they'd precariously balanced over their fire. Let alone the food, Reyn himself nearly caught a searing. Before anything more dangerous could occur, Shulk hurried over to the pot and pushed his friend aside, steadying it. There was still a good portion left, hopefully enough to feed Riki and their unexpected guests.

Had Riki mentioned bringing any of his children in his RSVP? If Shulk couldn't recall it, then likely not. Who knew what had waylaid Riki into specifically allowing two of them the passage all the way from Makna to the Bionis' Leg.

As he secured everything, Nene sidestepped the brawl to peer up at him. “You Shulk, yes?” she peeped.

Shulk blinked. Should he be honored or frightened that Riki had told his children about him? And how much had he shared? And how much of it was true? Clearing his throat, he said, “Yes, that's me.”

“Oooh!” Nene jumped on her little feet. “You Dadapon's favorite! You smart boy with tinker hands!”

Shulk spared a glance at his poor hands, still carefully swaddled in bandages. “Something like that,” he managed. “Are you hungry, Nene?”

She nodded, cheeks a dark pink.

Once he had settled her with a bowl and utensil, he thought about it, clarified. “I doubt I'm Riki's favorite. Melia is probably the one he likes most, out of us.” He smiled fondly at his hands. Melia was perhaps everyone's favorite, he figured. And for good reason.

“Bird lady?” Nene asked.

“That's her.”

“Where bird lady now?”

Shulk worried his lip. “We sent her an invitation, so we're hoping she will be here, soon.” They weren't entirely sure where Melia had gone, after they had saved Bionis. Towards Alcamoth, yes, but had she begun her rehabilitation efforts first, or had she sought for more soldiers? Or was she fighting the Telethia? Or was she entirely elsewhere, so far that the letter they'd sent her through a mailbox she had once penned them with would have not reach her soon enough?

They had not seen each other in months. After being together every single day, sweating and crying and fighting for their lives as one, he found he had no idea where some of his friends lived now. What they did with their lives. Who they gave them to. A bitter spring welled up in his throat, and he furrowed his brow, shut his eyes.

Nene's voice, soft like princess daffodils. “How you meet bird lady? Dadapon say he save her.”

Shulk snorted. Of course he did. “That's not exactly how it went down, no. Melia hated us at first.”

How easy it was to return to the old grooves in his mind, warm tracks that he kept deepening as he reminisced on his journey throughout all of their world. The words flowed without hesitation, without remorse. They were a comfort on his tongue, a portal that brought him back to when the memories were still fresh. He couldn't imagine forgetting even a moment.

When he opened his eyes, the cold glint of starlight greeted him. The sun had fallen, the land dusted in the darkened heavens. Nene was asleep, and Shulk stood carefully as not to wake her. Riki and Reyn had inexplicably ended their fight and were now deep in the midst of a card game. After peering between each of their hands, he was shocked to find Riki with the higher numbers.

“Go fish!”

“He thinks we're playing Go Fish,” Reyn muttered, turning to him.

“What are you playing?” Shulk asked.

Reyn stuck out his tongue. “I'm tryna play blackjack, but this bloke here won't listen to my instructions.”

So if they were playing two separate games... “Who's winning?”

“Me,” they both said.

Ah.

Sharla crept over to them, placing a sleeping Kino beside his sister. “Anyone want to search for constellations? I might be able to figure out your horoscope.”

He was about to answer her when his gaze listed. It was not a sight that brought him to look askance, no, but a sudden, pervasive feeling that had spread all throughout his core. The shadows remained shadows, but his heart began to race—and then with the sharp whistle of the wind fell a person who had been climbing down the rock wall's slope. They stood abruptly, landing on two feet, and walked with a slight limp towards them. Even with all the scratches and bandages, it was impossible not to recognize her.

“Melia!”

She froze. Instinct, she held out her arms. He ran into them, gripped her fiercely to him, and swallowed down his sob.

She was chuckling into his hair. “Hello, Shulk,” she breathed.

He squeezed her close, so overcome with the sensation of her that he could not imagine releasing. Not until she let out a nervous breath and said, “That hurts a little.”

“Oh! I'm so sorry.” He jumped back, flushed.

She shook her head, her silver ringlets bobbing. “It's quite alright. I'm just a bit sore.” The only way one could tell she was a queen was in her poise, the way she valiantly held up her head. She had bruises and scars all across her peachy skin, peeking out from everywhere her dark traveling cloak did not protect. Even the little wings on her head looked askew.

“M-Melia!” he squeaked. “You're covered in—”

She blushed all over and shushed him.

As if only just registering her, Sharla gasped, stood, and took her in.

Melia smiled into her neck, hugged her gently.

Riki jumped up so rapidly it spilled their cards. Reyn scowled at the mess and slowly pulled himself to his feet to join them.

Once Sharla had released her, she squinted at their friend. “Are you sure you're alright, Melia? You look—”

“I'm fine! D-Do not worry for my—”

Sharla already had her gun in hand. “I'm healing your wounds. No buts.”

Melia's head sagged. “Okay,” she mumbled. The girls sat together, close to the mouth of the above-ground cavern, the moonlight drenching them in silver. Sharla took turns blasting Melia with heal bullets and adjusting her bandages, ensuring the poor girl could walk without limping terribly before she would set her free.

As she worked, they all talked. They sat together on the edge, legs dangling over the cliff. Sharla tried to read their horoscopes, but it turned out she was terrible at it. “Reyn,” she indicated, “you're going to... uh... marry a brog?”

“A what?” he blanched.

“Maybe I'm reading that wrong.” She hummed. “Shulk, you're the Pedagogue, right?”

Shulk blinked. “How did you know that?”

“Oh, it's obvious. You're such a typical Pedagogue, with the unstoppable work ethic and the emotions and all.”

Oh. Huh.

“Shulk, you're going to...” She cringed. “Skip a week's worth of meals in the next month?”

Shulk sighed. “That's boring. I already knew that would happen.”

“Sometimes the present repeats itself until you're strong enough to defy it,” Sharla muttered. “Why don't you use that new Monado of yours to read your fate and go against it?”

“Shulk's not powerful enough,” Reyn said. “He can only defy fate if it's for a friend, or, more preferably, the entire world. Not for his own needs.”

Melia choked on her laughter. “Th-That hurts!” she squeaked.

“Oh, I'm so sorry, Melia.” Sharla hit her with another heal bullet. “I didn't expect Shulk's utter pathetic self to cause you pain.”

Shulk blanched. “I-I'm sorry! I'm trying to get better at it!”

“Just because Fiora and Dunban ain't here doesn't mean you can just stop eating.” Reyn shoved him.

“It's not on purpose!”

“Shulk have trouble eating?” Riki asked. “How? Riki thought impossible problem to have!”

Shulk hid his head in his hands.

Once Melia had been sufficiently patched up, they all settled close to one another and peered up at the stars. It needn't be said that they all were sure everyone who was able had gathered; Shulk sensed it pulsing between them.

He had Melia on his left, her head against his shoulder, and Reyn to his right, arm around him. Sharla sat with Reyn, curled up beside him, and Riki was beside Melia. A groggy Nene had crawled over to them and insisted she was not too tired to miss the rest of the evening, only to begin snoring against her father.

It was clear by now that Sharla was making up constellations. She'd listed a couple of the more popular ones—“Look, there's the Big Spoon” and “That's Hunter's Sword, see?”—then promptly derailed into made-up shapes. “That one there, it's the Bat of the World. It's so big you can see it from half of Bionis.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Reyn said.

“It looks,” Melia squinted, “kind of like an umbrella?”

“That's the wing!” Sharla declared.

Shulk had since given up finding her weird shapes. He was not imaginative enough to sate her.

It was growing late, and with all the blankets laid out, they could sleep as soon as they were ready. Shulk didn't want to close his eyes—couldn't bear to miss a moment of their reunion—not when they would all have to say goodbye to one another in the morning. The others didn't even bring it up, the night, their exhaustion. He sensed it between them, and he smiled into it.

Perhaps it was a fate of its own, that they had not slept. Perhaps some fates need not be altered by a magical sword, for they could find them on their own and uphold them.

They arrived once the moon had arced halfway across the sky amid discouraged mutters. “It's so late. There's no way they're still up.”

It was a voice that had seen Shulk through his childhood. He thought he might cry to hear it again, and so near.

Not to be outdone, Melia surged to her feet first. She helped Shulk up, capsizing Reyn in the process, and they crept over to their alcove's entrance hand-in-hand.

The others stirred and flanked them, just after their heels. Shulk didn't even make it all the way to the entrance before a worn, calloused hand was furiously ruffling his hair.

“Shulk! You look so thin! What have you been doing to yourself?”

Eyes squeezed shut, he was unable to stop chuckling. He found Dunban in the dark of his sight and embraced him. Dunban's good arm fell around his back. “I've missed you,” Shulk managed. “You both.”

Fiora's hands were cold metal now, but they cupped around his back in a familiar manner that breathed lasting shivers down his back, heavy with memory. Dunban released him to let his sister closer, and she wound her arms around Shulk. He instinctively nuzzled into her, breathed her in. She no longer smelled like herself, not quite—copper and ether and engines—but it was still her. One of his dearest friends.

He heard Dunban's voice rising, far too excited for this hour, all directed straight at a bleary-eyed Melia. They spoke animatedly about their separate journeys here—Melia's from Alcamoth, Dunban's round trip all the way from Colony 9 to hand-deliver his sister's invitation in the Fallen Arm. Their voices, bubbling ever louder, unable to fill up the space and warm it quick enough, grew so much that Shulk didn't even notice their other companion until he glanced up from Fiora and met her ether-blue complexion.

Fiora pushed against him, stepped back, cleared her throat. “Linada was nervous about my coming all the way here with just my brother as protection. We're still doing a lot of experiments, trying to learn exactly what my body is capable of.”

“Oh! No! That's perfectly wonderful. Linada!” How embarrassing. He was becoming as animated as Dunban. “Please tell me, what have you learned from salvaging the Mechonis? Have you brought any data with you?”

Fiora hid her head in her hands. “Oh, dear, I knew this would happen.”

Linada shot them both an easygoing smile. “I have plenty that I would enjoy sharing at a later time, Shulk.”

A sleepy Reyn had managed to find the way to his feet, and he now dumped his strong arms around their childhood friend. “Fiora, you're lookin', uh, good? For a Mechon?”

“Reyn,” snapped Dunban, whipping away from his discussion with Melia to zero in on the poor guy. “Don't use qualifiers! Just pay her the compliment!”

Fiora blushed. “It's fine, Brother. I didn't expect even a half-compliment from Reyn anyways.”

“Oy!” Reyn ran a flushed red hand through his hair. “No! I meant—I mean—You look nice, and that's good!”

“I must say.” Sharla popped up behind him, gently took one of Fiora's hands. She ran her fingers along the intricate metalwork that bound her (half-Mechon? mostly Mechon?) fingers, examined the welding. “You're quite fine, Fiora.”

Fiora's mouth fell open. “I-I don't know how to respond to that!” She grabbed her brother and hid her face in his back.

“SHHHH!”

The entire merry procession died abruptly.

Riki stood before them, his orange fur on end. “Friends be quieter,” he whispered hotly. “Riki's littlepons sleeping.”

Fiora gasped and cupped her hands over her mouth.

Dunban winced, his smile faltering. “My sincerest apologies, Heropon.”

The rest of them hung their heads like the ashamed saps they were. When they returned to the edge of the cliffside, staring out over the hush upon Bionis' Leg as one stargazing family, they shared words in cupped, muted tones. They did not lack for the rife emotion within, accompanied by shoves and hand-holding.

Linada relayed her tales from Mechonis with them of the stars' meaning, of ancient myths surrounding epic battles between robotic heroes and demons, of great sword fights in the heavens and the scrap heap in the sky that represented new beginnings. Reyn fell asleep with a profound snort, and it was after his snores started up (which were poorly stifled by a pillow) that the rest of them began to settle down for the night. All in one group, practically a dogpile. The girls had all curled up together, Sharla half on top of Reyn as if to try and stifle his loudness via brute force. Dunban near his sister, Riki squished between them and his littlepon.

Shulk knew, staring out at the heavens, that he should close his eyes and let himself be whisked away as well. Yet he couldn't bring himself to move from his spot, sitting just so, with the land spread out before him like a painting. The ponios had gone to sleep at the nook of a nearby hill, their herd a tight-knit bundle. Volff howls were more frequent, but they arced across the sky and echoed back from afar. Bugs hummed from all around them in a low buzz. The stars shone so brightly, threaded through with strings of colored dust.

This marked the land where their adventure had truly begun, where the world had spread out before them as a map chock-full of jotted locations and sights not to miss. He could close his eyes and smell the summery scent that gathered between grass and open sky. And if he reached further into his mind, he saw the mystifying marshes of Satorl, the unending Makna jungle, the deep gem-like cerulean Eryth sea, the pearly whites of Valak mountain, and on and on and on.

So much of his life had been burned by rage. How strange it was to glance back upon that time in his life and sense the gentle flickers of contentment, and, when stoked, a flaming joy that all but consumed him.

He opened his eyes, and it fell upon him breathlessly, like comets lancing through the night.

It couldn't be.

Backlit by moonlight, fighting a smile.

Before him—he held out his hands—cupped his face—tugged him close—just to be sure.

Alvis. Alvis had materialized in front of him. His silvery starlight gaze overflowed with Shulk, his wispy gray hair curtaining the deep warmth in his complexion. He still wore the same fur jacket and heeled boots, as if he had slipped out of one of Shulk's memories—a wish made of dreams—and landed before him.

Alvis's lips quirked into a half-grin, and Shulk startled as if awoken. He gripped him, laughing, unable to stop, hardly to breathe, and hugged him close. He sensed a pulsing like a heartbeat against his chest, but somehow he knew it had to be something else. It was always something else with Alvis.

“You came,” Shulk whispered.

“You waited for me,” Alvis replied.

Everyone had made it home. Everyone.

He hadn't meant to cry, but the tears pooled in his gaze and fell rapidly. He choked, tangled his fingers in Alvis's jacket, pressed his forehead to his. Alvis tugged on his arm, found one of his bandaged hands. Held it so gently.

None of them would be here if not for Alvis. He couldn't explain how he knew this, and yet he did. It thundered through him like prophecy, like a deep-seated truth simply yet unspoken.

He hadn't known his heart could keep expanding, yet it did so effortlessly. It sailed high above him, too great to clutch protectively to himself, and joined the constellations, skipping among them like glittering stepping stones. Endless. Endless. Forever.