Lunar sat upright against the pillows, her back stiff as she took in the room around her. The ceiling above was unfamiliar—too smooth, too bright, white in a way that felt deliberate rather than comforting. The overhead light had been dimmed, diffused so it wouldn't glare, but it still made her eyes ache if she focused on it for too long.
White walls surrounded her, unbroken and clean. White curtains hung in neat folds along the rails. White sheets were tucked around her legs with careful precision, the corners sharp, the fabric cool where it brushed her skin.
Her chest tightened as the recognition settled in.
A hospital room.
She shifted slightly, the mattress yielding beneath her with a soft, controlled give. The air smelled sterile—clean to the point of sharpness—with a faint sweetness underneath, like something added afterward to make the place feel less empty. Somewhere to her side, a monitor hummed steadily, its quiet rhythm grounding and unsettling all at once.
Lunar lowered her gaze once more. Saiya was still there.
She sat in a chair pulled close to the bed, head resting against the mattress as if she'd given up on sitting properly hours ago. Pale pink hair spilled over her face, mussed from sleep. One small hand was wrapped around Lunar's, warm and certain, her grip unchanged even now. She was asleep, breathing shallow and even, unaware of anything beyond the steady rise and fall of her chest.
Lunar looked at their joined hands for a long moment.
Until the door slid open.
Lunar's gaze lifted just in time to see Black Caviar step inside.
For a fraction of a second, The adult who had seemed larger than life in Lunar's mind froze—eyes sweeping the room, sharp and searching—until they landed on Lunar, awake. Fully conscious. Looking back at her.
Relief hit Black Caviar all at once.
"Lunar," Black Caviar breathed, and crossed the room without hesitation. Her stride was fast, controlled only by the care she took not to jostle the bed as she reached it. "You're awake—are you alright? Can you hear me?"
She leaned in, one hand bracing against the mattress, eyes scanning Lunar's face with fierce focus.
Before Lunar could form a reply, Black Caviar pulled her into a careful embrace—firm enough to be certain, gentle enough not to hurt. There was a slight tremor in it, a break in the legendary steadiness she usually carried.
The movement startled Lunar, her shoulders tensing on instinct before the warmth registered, solid and protective.
At the shift, Saiya stirred. She made a soft, confused sound, lashes fluttering as she woke. Her eyes focused slowly, first on Lunar—awake—then on Black Caviar looming close.
"…Mama?" Saiya murmured sleepily.
Her eyes focused properly a heartbeat later.
"—Lunar!"
Saiya jolted upright, the last traces of sleep vanishing in an instant. She didn't hesitate—she climbed out of the chair and leaned over the bed, wrapping her arms around Lunar's middle with all the strength her smaller body could manage. Her grip was tight, desperate, as if letting go even for a second might make Lunar disappear again.
"You're awake," she whispered, and then her voice broke. "You're really awake…"
Tears spilled over before she could stop them. They soaked into Lunar's shirt as Saiya pressed her face against her, shoulders shaking.
Lunar stiffened for only a moment before softening, instinct taking over. She lifted one arm carefully, resting it around Saiya's back. Her hand found Saiya's hair, smoothing it in slow, awkward strokes.
"It's okay," Lunar murmured, voice hoarse but steady. "I'm here. I'm okay."
Saiya shook her head fiercely against her. "I thought—you were—" She sucked in a shaky breath. "When you fell, you didn't move. You looked so pale. I couldn't feel you at all. Not like before. It was like—like you were gone."
The words came out tangled, frightened, too big for her to carry alone.
Lunar's chest tightened. She pulled Saiya a little closer, resting her cheek lightly against the top of her head. "I'm not gone Saichan," she said again, more firmly this time. "I promise."
Black Caviar stood beside the bed, watching the exchange in silence. When Saiya's crying finally eased into uneven sniffles, she spoke.
"Lunar," she said gently, "what happened?"
Lunar's fingers stilled in Saiya's hair.
For a moment, the words crowded her throat—the obsidian plane, Eclipse, the running, the fear—but she swallowed them back down. Her gaze drifted to the white sheets, to the steady rise and fall of Saiya's shoulders.
"…I don't know, Auntie..." she said quietly.
It wasn't a lie. Not entirely.
Black Caviar studied her for several seconds, sharp eyes searching Lunar's face for something she wasn't saying. The silence stretched—but she didn't press. At last, she exhaled and straightened.
"Alright," she said simply. "We'll talk later."
She rested a hand briefly on Lunar's shoulder, turned toward the door. "I'll get the doctor."
The door slid shut behind her, leaving the room quiet again.
Saiya didn't let go.
She stayed curled against Lunar, small fingers still clutching fabric as if afraid the world might tilt again the moment she did. Lunar stared ahead at the white wall, breathing slowly, one hand resting protectively on Saiya's back.
______________________
The doctor finished the last check in silence.
He adjusted the stethoscope around his neck, glanced once more at the tablet in his hand, then back at Lunar—eyes creased with quiet confusion.
"Your vitals are stable," he said at last. "Heart rate is normal. No signs of neurological distress. Bloodwork came back clean as well."
He hesitated, as if expecting something to change if he looked again. "There's no indication of physical trauma, exhaustion, or illness that would explain a sudden blackout."
Lunar sat upright against the pillows, hands folded in her lap. She nodded once, slowly, absorbing the words without really reacting to them.
The doctor exhaled through his nose. "For now, the best course of action is rest. A few days, at least. No strenuous activity—especially running." His gaze flicked briefly to Black Caviar, then back to Lunar. "Until we understand what caused this, we don't want to risk it happening again."
Another nod from Lunar. She knows better than to not be compliant.
Black Caviar inclined her head. "Thank you, Dr Allen," she said sincerely. "For your time."
Doctor Allen stiffened slightly at the words, then bowed—deeper than necessary, shoulders tense. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help," he said, voice edged with humility. "If anything changes, even slightly, please inform the staff immediately."
Black Caviar acknowledged him with a calm nod.
He bowed once more—respectful, before turning and leaving the room, the door sliding shut behind him.
The quiet returned. Lunar stared down at her hands, the doctor's words echoing faintly in her mind.
Nothing wrong. No explanation.
And yet, somewhere deep in her chest, she knew that wasn't the whole truth.
__________________________
Paperwork was signed. Instructions were repeated more than once. A wheelchair was offered and politely refused. Lunar walked out on her own two feet, steps careful but steady, with Black Caviar never more than half a pace away—and Saiya close on her other side, fingers brushing Lunar's sleeve as if to make sure she was still there.
The ride home passed in a wash of sunset and passing streets. Lunar watched them without really seeing, her body tired in a way that sank deeper than muscle, like something inside her had been stretched thin and was only now allowed to loosen. Saiya had leaned against her shoulder at some point, light but constant, and Lunar hadn't shifted away.
When the car finally slowed and the familiar gates of the mansion came into view, a strange, cautious relief settled in her chest.
Home—at least, the place that had begun to feel like one.
The moment the front door opened—
"LUNAR—!"
Namawa–
A streak of neon blue barreled down the hall before anyone could intercept her, and Lunar barely had time to brace before Namawa slammed into her, arms wrapping tight around her shoulder. Saiya, who had been walking close at Lunar's side, startled and instinctively reached for her sleeve as the impact landed.
"Are you okay?!" Namawa blurted out all at once, voice cracking as the words tripped over each other. "Mama wouldn't tell us anything and you just—just fell and—what if—"
"I'm okay," Lunar said, arms lifting to steady her. "Really."
"Namawa!" Persian's voice cut in clean and sharp. She crossed the distance in long, purposeful strides, caught Namawa by the back of her collar, and hauled her off Lunar with practiced ease.
"What did I tell you about tackling people without warning?" Persian scolded, holding Namawa firmly at arm's length. "She was just discharged. Use your head."
"But she—"
"No buts."
As Persian continued her lecture, something shifted at Lunar's other side—the side not occupied by Saiya.
Anonym.
She didn't hesitate. She didn't announce herself. She simply stepped in close and bumped lightly into Lunar's shoulder, careful and deliberate, then slipped her arms around her in a brief, restrained embrace.
"I'm glad you're fine," she said quietly, almost matter-of-fact, before pulling back just enough to look at her.
Lunar blinked, surprised—and then nodded, the corner of her mouth lifting without her quite realizing it.
At once, Saiya frowned. Her grip tightened, small arms wrapping more securely around Lunar's side, as if staking a quiet claim.
Behind them, Black Caviar let out a soft laugh.
"All of you—easy," she said, reaching down to scoop Anonym up before the others could follow her example. Anonym stiffened in mild protest but didn't resist. "She's home, yes. But she's not at full strength yet."
Namawa deflated immediately. "Sorry…" she muttered, rubbing the back of her head.
Black Caviar glanced at Lunar, her expression warm but watchful. "You're resting tonight," she added gently. "No arguments."
Lunar nodded again. It might as well be her signature at this point.
And so, for the next few days, Lunar found herself doing very little—and somehow, a lot all at once.
Rest, apparently, was not something that came naturally to her.
She was barred from playing, from running, from anything that might "strain her condition," as Black Caviar put it with a tone that allowed no negotiation. That left Lunar drifting through the house and its wide grounds, unsure what to do with all the quiet time suddenly placed in her hands.
Persian was the first to remedy that.
One afternoon, she set up pencils and paper at the long table by the window and, without ceremony, slid a blank sheet toward Lunar. Drawing, it turned out, was not one of Lunar's strengths. Lunar had always known that. Even as a child, she'd struggled to make her hands do what her mind pictured.
A memory surfaced uninvited—her mother kneeling beside her, gently turning a crooked page around and smiling anyway.
It looks perfect to me, she'd said, brushing graphite from Lunar's fingers. Because you're the one that drew it. Lunar's pencil hesitated now, as it had then. Her lines came out stiff and uncertain, proportions wandering wherever they pleased, refusing to settle.
Persian watched her struggle for a while before offering calm, infuriatingly precise advice.
"Don't fight the pencil," she said, sipping her tea. "Let it wander first. You can always correct it later."
Lunar tried. The result was still… questionable.
Persian studied the finished piece, eyes thoughtful, then nodded solemnly. "Abstract," she decided. "Bold choice."
Lunar wasn't sure if she was being teased, but she felt a small, unexpected lightness bloom in her chest all the same.
On another day, Black Caviar took Namawa and Lunar out to watch local races.
Disguises were involved, obviously. Caps pulled low, jackets zipped high—black mask safely framed—and for a while, it actually worked. They blended into the edge of the crowd, standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers as the noise of the track swelled and fell in waves. The air buzzed with anticipation, hooves striking dirt in the distance, voices rising and overlapping.
Lunar stood on her toes, then dropped back down with a small huff. No matter how she shifted, the press of taller bodies blocked her view.
"I can't see," Namawa complained beside her, hopping once, then again.
Lunar shook her head. "Me neither."
Black Caviar glanced down at them, then back toward the track. Without a word, she reached down and lifted them both, settling Namawa on one shoulder and Lunar on the other. The movement was so smooth Lunar barely had time to gasp before the world rearranged itself.
Suddenly, she could see everything.
The track stretched out below them, clear and bright. The runners thundered past in a blur of muscle and motion, the sound of the crowd hitting her all at once instead of in pieces.
Lunar's hands curled instinctively into Black Caviar's jacket, grounding herself as her chest filled with something warm and tight all at once.
It reminded her of another race, much smaller, long ago. Standing by a wooden fence she'd been too short to see over, frustration knotting in her throat. Her mother had laughed softly and lifted her up without hesitation, hands steady at Lunar's waist as she perched her there.
"Better?" she'd asked.
Her mother had been gentler about it—careful with her balance, careful with everything—but the feeling was the same. Lunar hadn't realized she was holding onto Black Caviar a little tighter until Namawa pointed excitedly and started shouting commentary into the wind.
Caviar steadied her without looking, unfazed. Lunar let herself lean back just slightly, the memory settling instead of biting for once.
It was only a minute later that someone in the crowd stared a little too long. A whisper passed. Then another.
Recognition spread fast.
The moment it turned into a shout, Black Caviar reacted instantly—scooping both girls in her arms again, and bolted down the street with effortless speed as cheers, laughter, and confused reporters erupted behind them.
Lunar clung to her, half-dizzy, half-amazed. Namawa later declared it the best day ever.
Lunar didn't disagree.
At night, something else changed.
For some reason, Anonym started showing up at Lunar's door. Sometimes she knocked. Sometimes she didn't. More often than not, she said nothing at all—just slipped inside, laid down beside her, and went to sleep like it was the most natural thing in the world. She slept close, careful, a steady presence at Lunar's side.
It was unexpected. A little awkward, at first.
Lunar had lain stiffly those first few nights, acutely aware of every place they touched—an arm brushing her side, a shoulder pressed lightly against her back. Over time, though, the tension eased, replaced by something softer.
It reminded her of sleeping beside her mother.
Not in any dramatic way—just the quiet familiarity of another body nearby, the comfort of shared warmth in the dark. But the differences stood out, too. Anonym was built differently, thinner in places where her mother had been soft, the lines of her frame sharper. The way Lunar's arm settled around her felt unfamiliar, the angles slightly wrong in a way that made her notice it.
And the back of Anonym's neck was always a little cold when Lunar's hand brushed there, as if she carried the night with her longer than most.
The warmth, too, was different. Less enveloping. Less gentle.
Still, it was enough.
As Anonym's breathing evened out beside her, Lunar found the restlessness in her chest easing, the tightness loosening just a little. She adjusted without thinking, settling into the space they shared, and let her eyes close.
Different, she thought dimly. But satisfying all the same.
By the fourth day, she found herself outside alone, leaning against the trunk of a broad tree in the garden. Sunlight filtered through the leaves above, dappling her hands and knees. The air was mild, peaceful. She listened to distant voices from the house and let them wash over her.
They really did care.
Every one of them, in their own strange, noisy, gentle ways. The realization settled into her chest with a weight that wasn't painful, just unfamiliar, like something she hadn't carried in a long time.
That warmth had found her again. And she didn't know what to do with it.
She didn't know how to give it back, how to meet it without holding too tightly or letting it slip through her fingers. There was a part of her that hesitated, wary of moving wrong and breaking something fragile inside herself.
"You take everything—your grief, your memories, your feelings—and you press them inward.
You seal them away untouched. Unspoken. You keep them still because you believe that if they never move, they will never decay."
The words rose in her mind without warning, clear for only a heartbeat before softening at the edges and fading again.
"Lunar?"
She blinked.
Soft pink filled her blurred vision as she looked up. Saiya stood in front of her, hands clasped behind her back, head tilted just slightly, as if she didn't want to intrude. Her smile was gentle and unassuming, the kind that asked without demanding.
Lunar noticed, not for the first time, how soft Saiya looked
Not just in the way she smiled, but in her features—the roundness of her cheeks, the way her almond eyes curved when she was curious, the smallness of her frame that made her seem delicate beside the others.
Saiya felt like a quiet contrast. Persian and Anonym both carried cleaner, more defined lines in their faces and features, edges enhanced by their personalities, and even Namawa—despite her loud energy, had something sharp beneath it all.
"What are you thinking about?"