The wind swept softly along the Lunenrane shoreline, ushering salt-sweet air through the night. The tide lapped steadily, silver crests brushing against dark sand, glowing faintly under the shimmer of stars that seemed impossibly low—too close. They moved with the faintest choreography, as though responding to the quiet rhythm of thought.
This wasn't a memory. It wasn't the real Lunenrane. Only the dream realm—subtly shaped by Nora's will to resemble the shoreline Nyota once knew.
Nyota sat hunched on a large beach rock, elbows on knees, fists loosely clasped. The sea before him held no comfort. It simply existed—like truth, or grief.
Nora sat a short distance away, her presence quiet, unthreatening. She too was on a rock, though the one she chose shimmered faintly beneath her—a constellation drawn into stone, pulsing once every so often like a slow breath.
"So, Elwin looked smug, even when Noriko was in the room," she said, a gentle echo of a conversation already underway.
"He was enjoying himself," Nyota muttered. "Like the whole thing was a joke. Like watching us squirm was the best part of his day."
Nora didn't answer right away. She watched the stars continue their drift above the waves, fingers laced in her lap. "It seems he's always been good at performance."
"Yeah," Nyota said, a hollow laugh in his voice. "He put on a show. Threw out names, accusations. Brought up things he shouldn't have known. Things that hit too close for comfort."
The pause stretched.
"Kai found a letter," Nyota said quietly, eyes darkening. "One that Noriko wrote. It was a report, basically—a justification for the raid. She said Father was training the youth there—us—with firearms and Modi control. Called it a threat to Saprius. Said she warned him, and when he didn't cooperate the way she wanted, she sent Elwin to destroy the place. To capture the kids. Wipe everything else."
Nora's head tilted slightly, her expression thoughtful. "That means you have a starting point," she said. "If Noriko documented her intentions, there's a trail. It might be twisted, but it's there. Follow it. And don't settle for someone else's version of what happened. But also, be sure to not rush the process."
Nyota's mouth opened, then closed. His jaw clenched as he looked out into the sea. "How couldn't I?"
Nora's gaze didn't shift. She waited a breath longer, then said quietly, "I understand. If my words are worth anything, your father was… an interesting man, but I find it very hard to believe that he would've left without reason. Not if he had a choice. Orion was many things, but careless wasn't one of them. Just… don't try to do too much at once. You're already concerning yourself with Noriko, don't distract yourself too much with Orion."
"Of course," Nyota nodded, voice low but certain. He turned his head just enough to meet her eyes. "Your words are always worth something."
The waves struck louder for a moment, like punctuation.
"It's just—" He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. "I spent so long wondering what I'd done wrong. If I'd been too weak, too naive. If maybe the raid was punishment. For me. For us."
Nora turned to face him more fully, her eyes gentle. "You blamed yourself."
He nodded slowly. Then something in his chest twisted.
"And the truth is worse. That maybe he knew, and said nothing. That maybe he was part of it."
The fury didn't come all at once. It bled in through the cracks—through the words, through the memory of the courtroom, of Elwin's grin, of Noriko's silence. Through the reminder that Orion had been absent not just in body, but in purpose. And seemingly in love.
Nyota stood, pacing now, fists clenched at his sides. The air around him trembled slightly, heat rising from the sand.
"He watched it happen. All of it. He let it happen. If he could've stopped it and didn't—"
His voice shook.
"Then I have to find him. I have to look him in the face and ask. And if he lies again—"
Nora stood slowly. The rock beneath her dimmed. "Then what?"
He turned to her. Eyes raw. Voice cracking.
"Then I'll make him answer."
The stars above pulsed faintly, rippling across the sky like held breath. Nora stepped forward, close enough now to reach out, but she didn't.
"Then ask him. Not just for revenge. But for the truth. Because you deserve to know."
He looked away.
"And if I don't like what I find?"
"Then you'll choose what to do with it. But not until you know."
He exhaled shakily, shoulders heavy. The fury still lived beneath his skin—but so did something older. Older than rage. A longing to understand. To finally understand.
He sat again, but this time with intention. Nora did the same.
The sea continued to speak. And above them, the stars shifted slowly into a new shape—one neither of them named aloud.