Back on Earth

The light swallowed Emi.

It was not the light of a star, nor the glow of a dream – it was the final warmth of a vanishing fire. It surrounded Emi as she felt herself lifted from Orion’s embrace, from the ruined land, from the battlefield beyond time. There was no wind, no sound, no motion – only the feeling of something slipping through her fingers. She reached for him as she rose, her hands outstretched toward the receding flame, but it was already too late.

Through a brief tunnel of nothingness – she then found herself looking at the ceiling.

Her ceiling.

This was her room.

Same white walls. Same messy desk. The soft hum of her fan in the corner. Her bookshelf had not changed. Her many sketchbooks were open on her desk, her pencil left where it had rolled off. Outside, the sky was gray and heavy with snow. The world had moved on.

For a moment, she stared blankly. Her hand slowly reached to her chest as if to confirm her body was whole. No cuts. No wounds. Not a single trace of the cosmic war she had just witnessed. It was as if it had all been a dream.

But it wasn’t.

The weight in her chest confirmed it.

Tears broke the dam in silence. She didn’t scream. She didn’t speak. She simply curled in on herself, knees pulled tight to her chest, head tucked beneath her arms, as the sobs came in waves. She couldn’t stop it.

Not this time.

She cried not like someone who had lost something, but instead – someone who had found something.

Someone.

His warmth, his voice, the fire behind his eyes, the strange way he tilted his head when confused, the way he said her name – for the first time, and the last.

The silence of her room felt cruel now. Her world, once filled with sketches and daydreams, now felt like a paper-thin copy of a universe that had shattered. She looked down at her hands and wondered how they had ever held his. How something so small, so ordinary, could ever have been part of something that extraordinary.

She moved to the window. Snow fell quietly, blanketing the town in white. But it wasn’t the same frost she saw from above. This snow was gentle, mundane. Harmless. And yet, even now, part of her expected to see the skies split open again. For the frost to turn to rot. For him to come back.

But there was only silence.

A whisper of warmth on her cheek made her pause. Perhaps some lingering ember of the Starheart? Or perhaps just her memory.

She closed her eyes and whispered his name.

“Orion…”

It disappeared into the air, unheard. But she said it anyway.

Because that was all she had left.

The days passed slowly, like snow drifting in a windless world. Kana and Misaki grew restless and worried with all the days Emi did not show up at school. So taking matters into their own hands, they rushed through the snow in the direction of her house, determined to find out what exactly had happened.

“She’s not answering her phone,” Kana said, pacing back and forth outside Emi’s house, her long coat billowing with every turn. “She hasn’t posted anything, anywhere. This isn’t like her.”

Misaki stood beside her, clutching her scarf, her brows furrowed in worry.

“Maybe she’s just sick.”

“Then why isn’t she texting back? She always replies, even when she’s got a cold.” Kana pulled out her phone again, dialed for the fifth time, and frowned as the call went unanswered once more. “Ugh, that’s it! I’m using the key.”

“You still have that?” Misaki blinked in disbelief. “What’s the matter with you?”

“She gave it to me in case of emergencies! Like when she went to that manga convention and needed me to water her cactus! I’m officially declaring this an emergency.”

“I don’t know if this counts as – Kana, wait!”

But Kana was already unlocking the door, stepping inside like she owned the place. Misaki followed reluctantly, muttering something about boundaries, but concern outweighed her protests.

They climbed the stairs, calling out softly.

“Emi? Are you home?”

There was no answer. Only the sound of faint, muffled sobs, faintly echoing.

Kana’s face turned pale, and she pushed open the bedroom door.

The sight inside made her heart drop.

Emi sat on the edge of her bed, still in her school uniform. Her blouse was rumpled, her ribbon slightly crooked, as if she had dressed herself in the morning but never found the strength to leave. Her satchel lay unopened beside her. She stared down at her lap, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. Her shoulders trembled with each breath.

“Oh my god, Emi…” Kana rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside her.

Misaki followed more slowly, kneeling on the other side, her voice gentle.

“What happened?”

Emi didn’t respond. She tried – but the words were caught somewhere in her chest, locked behind the pain. Her fingers clenched the edge of the bed, as if afraid that if she let go, everything would disappear once more.

Kana hesitated for only a second before wrapping her arms around Emi, hugging her tightly.

“Hey. You don’t have to talk yet. Just let it out, okay?”

And so, she complied, breaking down. Her cries filled the room, loud and raw, as if they had been waiting days to escape. Misaki joined in, embracing her on top as well.

And there they stayed, three girls on a quiet snowy day, sitting in the stillness of a room that had once been full of dreams. Neither Misaki nor Kana asked questions yet. They didn’t demand explanations. They didn’t try to fix it.

They simply stayed.