The next morning arrived with no fanfare.
No glowing portals, no talking shadows, no skies folding inside out.
Just sunlight, sneaking through Ayame's curtains, and the warm comfort of bedsheets she hadn't slept in for what felt like a lifetime.
She blinked at the ceiling.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then the scent of her pillow — the same jasmine detergent her mom used — grounded her.
She was home.
Her phone buzzed beside her.
**1 New Message – Kael:**
*Did we dream everything or did I actually high-five a symphonic tree guardian?*
Ayame smiled.
**Ayame:**
*You did. You also gave it a nickname and asked if it wanted to start a band.*
Another ping.
**Kael:**
*Right. So nothing's changed except we're now the unofficial ambassadors of interdimensional emotional healing. Want to walk to school?*
She stared at the message.
Something twisted gently in her chest — not pain, exactly. Just the strange ache of re-entry. Of trying to fit a soul shaped by infinity back into shoes she bought from a mall.
She typed back:
**Ayame:**
*Yeah. Meet in ten.*
—
The walk to school was weirdly normal.
Kael was already waiting outside her building, balancing a convenience store onigiri in one hand and waving with the other.
"Morning, Empress of Echoes," he said with a dramatic bow.
"Morning, Duke of Questionable Diet Choices," she replied.
He looked pleased. "You remembered my title."
They started down the familiar sidewalk. Cars passed. Cherry blossoms fluttered lazily from trees lining the street. Nothing burned or imploded. No magical relics blinked to life.
And yet… it wasn't the same.
Every corner held a flicker of memory. The alley where they'd first seen a glimpse of the shadow. The café they'd hidden in during the rainstorm. The bookstore that had practically *thrown* a map at them.
Kael slowed near the gate. "Do you feel it too?"
Ayame tilted her head. "Feel what?"
He didn't speak immediately. Just looked around — at students rushing past them, faces familiar but unaware. At the sky that still seemed too vast. At his own reflection in a nearby window.
"This weird feeling that everything's normal," he said finally, "but *we're* not."
Ayame nodded slowly. "Yeah. I feel it."
They entered school, greeted by the usual wave of chatter and hallway chaos. But it all passed through them, like they were tuned to a different frequency.
Liora was already in the classroom when they arrived.
She looked like she hadn't slept — not from nightmares, but from *thinking.*
"Good morning," she said.
Kael stared. "You look like you're about to give a TED Talk on cosmic grief."
"I had a dream," she said quietly. "About the Composer."
Ayame's heart skipped.
Liora went on. "She was… singing. But this time, she was *alone.* The glade was fading."
Kael frowned. "But we completed the melody. Didn't we?"
Liora looked at them, her voice gentle.
"We carried pieces back. But the song's not over. She was a beginning… not an end."
Ayame felt the weight of the stardust still tucked in her pocket. "Then maybe we're not done either."
The bell rang.
Everyone shuffled into seats, teachers began roll call, the day began like any other.
But for the three of them, every word felt like a seed.
Every silence — an invitation.
Ayame caught Kael's eye during history class and mouthed, *Later.*
He nodded.
After school, they met again on the rooftop. Their rooftop.
Ayame pulled out the fragment of stardust. It still pulsed — faintly, patiently. Waiting.
"We need to do something with it," she said.
Kael shrugged. "Like what? Plant it? Feed it? Take it on a college tour?"
Liora sat cross-legged, eyes closed. "No. We need to *share* it."
Ayame looked between them. "Then we tell the story."
Kael blinked. "To *people*? Like, casually say, 'Hey, want to hear about the time I temporarily became a metaphor?'"
Ayame grinned. "Not *exactly.* But maybe we start small. Art. Music. Stories."
"Stories," Liora echoed. "Stories are how the world remembers itself."
And as the sun dipped low, casting golden light across the rooftop, the three of them sat with open notebooks and quiet hearts.
Not trying to be heroes.
Just trying to begin the next verse.
Together.
---