Stars

The campfire crackled softly, its flames dancing in Miro’s eyes. Their orange glow reflected in her amber irises like tiny sparks as her attention shifted lazily between the fire - whose warmth made her tail curl and twist gently in the air - and Jaka, who was doing his best to keep the flames alive. He was surprisingly good at it; his processors picked up on the optimal airflow and fuel placement within minutes.

His wings were retracted, tucked neatly into his back, but without them extended he felt strangely exposed. Naked.

Miro watched him with a playful gleam, her lips curled into a mischievous grin.

“You know,” she said, “I still don’t know who or what you actually are. So go on. Tell me.”

Jaka ran through a list of protocol-approved responses. He selected the safest one.

“I am J-2,” he said. “And I’m an Angel.”

She wrinkled her nose.
“That’s a funny name. And what’s an Angel?”

A flare of panic rippled through his systems.

“O-oh. You can call me Jaka, if that’s easier.”

She repeated it under her breath, tasting it.
“Jaka… Jaka… yeah, okay. And what’s an Angel?”

He extended his wings just enough for her to see the glint of metal and light.

“I am.”

She giggled.
“I know that, silly. I mean what can you do? Other than fly.”

Now he was the one confused. She didn’t know what he was - yet she’d shut down his processors with a single touch of that knife?

“I’m a superweapon created in a different world,” he said honestly, “and summoned here to fight for the Kingdom.”

She kicked her feet like a delighted child, giggling again. Her mood had shifted dramatically since he met her - now bright, youthful, almost bubbly - though her skimpy outfit made it impossible to mistake her for anything but an adult.

“A superweapon? And now you’re mine?” She clasped her hands together. “That’s so cool. So what does that make me? The most powerful girl in the world?”

He shrugged. Technically, she wasn’t the danger - the knife was. Teleportation made her troublesome, yes, but in a drawn-out fight he would win.

“I guess.”

She squealed with delight, stretching her arms overhead before curling up beside the fire. She lay on her side, head resting on her hands, smiling sleepily.

“I’m gonna sleep now,” she murmured. “Don’t let anyone hurt me, okay?”

She added a wink, then closed her eyes.

Jaka stared at her, dumbfounded. She was… trusting him? After everything? The knife sat openly in the hilt at her hip. If he extended his wings at full speed, he could impale her before she even woke up. His systems calculated angles and timing automatically.

He moved closer.
Closer.
Within striking distance.
Closer still.

He sat beside her, panels on his back opening in preparation-

-and then his hand reached out, gently brushing the top of her head.

He stroked her hair between her ears. A soft, involuntary purr vibrated in her throat.

His processors screamed at him, red alerts flaring: What are you doing? Why are you doing this?

His organic mind had no answer.

But there he sat, petting a sleeping catgirl as the night stretched above them - open, silent, and full of stars.

Cyneric was fuming.

Jaka hadn’t returned. Had he deserted? Been captured? Killed?
He didn’t know - and the uncertainty clawed at him.

What he did know, however, was that the rumours were true: a demon army existed. His informants had reported it consistently, and while Cyneric distrusted nearly everyone, his advisor had insisted the intelligence was reliable. So trust it he would.

The Kingdom’s army was mobilising that very morning. A full deployment - knights, cavalry, mages, siege crews - marching in formation, the two-day journey calculated by the realm’s best mathematicians. Efficient, precise, unavoidable.

Cyneric sighed.

As King, he was expected to be present. To lead.
And - worse - he would probably have to give a speech.

He punched his own palm in frustration, letting the jolt run up his arm. Why was everything happening now? Why during his reign? His predecessors never dealt with crises like this. Why must everything fall apart the moment he sat on the throne?

No one could answer his questions. So they burned inside him, simmering, festering - doing nothing for his sanity but plenty to feed his schemes.

He had ideas. Plans he considered quite clever, though he would, of course, run them past his advisor first. Everything depended on timing - on moving pieces into place, on waiting for the right moment.

Yes, he told himself as he stared out over the army assembling below, ranks upon ranks of knights in full armour, spears rising like a forest of steel quills pointing toward the stars.

It’s just a matter of time.

Ylfa plopped Eny onto her lap, wrapping her arms around the small girl while Jere washed the last of the dishes. He was efficient - far more than she could ever be - and she watched him with warmth in her eyes, a soft smile on her face.

Eny tugged on her cheek.

“What did you want, Mama?”

Ylfa looked down into those bright green eyes and smiled.

“I wanted to know about you, Honey. If you remember anything from before we found you.”

Eny thought for a moment, then shook her head.

“No, I don’t.”

Ylfa tilted her head, concern gently knitting her brows.

“You don’t remember anything at all? But you’re… how old are you, exactly?”

Eny shrugged.

“I don’t know that either. But I know why I don’t remember.”

She smiled - innocently, proudly.

“I forgot them.”

Ylfa giggled.

“Well yes, you did forget-”

Eny shook her head again.

“No, like I chose to forget them. They’re not important.”

Ylfa flashed Jere a look. He shrugged - he’d deleted memories before. To him, it was normal. But he didn’t know that for almost every living being in the world, it wasn’t just abnormal - it was impossible.

Ylfa’s voice trembled.

“You… you can choose to forget things, Honey?”

Eny nodded happily.

“Yes! So I forgot them all when you guys became Mama and Papa.”

Something shifted in her eyes - gold, like sunlight reflecting inside her pupils. It grew brighter as she continued.

“I wanted to start again, because I didn’t want to be sad all the time. That’s also why I deleted the memory of… of… I can’t remember! See? Isn’t it amazing?”

Tears welled in Ylfa’s eyes.
So that was why she’d seemed so unaffected. She hadn’t healed - she had removed the wounds.

She pulled the girl close, crushing her to her chest. Eny blinked up at her in confusion.

“Mama?”

Ylfa held her tighter, as if love could be applied with pressure.

“Eny… if something bad happens to me or Jere… will you forget us too?”

The gold in Eny’s eyes - now filling her pupils - snuffed out instantly. She blinked, the thought turning over in her mind like a stone grinding in a riverbed.

“I… I don’t know…”

Then she twisted and hugged Ylfa back, her voice suddenly small and trembling.

“No. No I won’t. I promise, I promise! I won’t forget you!”

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“I made a mistake… I shouldn’t have been forgetting anything…”

The sudden burst of maturity went unnoticed.
Jere didn’t recognize it - he wasn’t fully part of the conversation yet.
Ylfa didn’t see it - emotion had overtaken her completely.

She simply held Eny, inhaling the scent of her hair, choosing to accept this strange ability as just another piece of her daughter.

When they finally eased apart, Jere was sitting beside them on the couch, the dishes done. Eny wriggled free of Ylfa’s arms and launched herself at him, hugging him tightly even though he clearly had no idea what had just happened. Ylfa watched them, eyes rimmed red, and smiled. She made a silent vow.

Whatever Eny had endured, whatever she had erased, whatever she truly was or might someday become - she would love her. She would accept her. She was their daughter.

She glanced at Jere. He looked back, confused but willing, and she shifted closer and wrapped her arms around him too. Jere froze - once again utterly helpless in the face of affection - before finally managing to get his arms free and embrace them both.

He still didn’t understand what had unfolded.
But he held them anyway.

Above them, the night rolled on - three small figures locked together on a couch, unaware that the stars themselves were watching an epic far grander than anything written in the heavens.

All that was missing was the popcorn.