Kite twisted through the air in a tight arc, his momentum carrying him quickly through the corridors. His green eyes scanned forward—calculating—searching for an exit, a hiding spot, something.

  He soared through the winding veins of the skyship like a silver-streaked phantom, his laughter still lingering from his last stunt—but it had lost some of its wild confidence now. Each time he swung, his wrist snapped downward with perfect rhythm, Salti’s sharp TWIP-THWIP of synthetic webbing singing through the air behind him. The silk threads stretched out like glinting silver bridges between exposed pipes, ceiling beams, and the jagged architecture of the ship’s guts.

  And with each swing… he was getting faster. Smoother. Almost instinctual.

  Kite’s shoes slapped against the wall mid-swing, his light frame sticking perfectly to its surface as he ran vertically along it for several steps—only to kick off sideways in a twisting flip, firing another web upward without missing a beat. A nervous laugh escaped him, shaky despite his grin.

  “H-haaa… okay…” he muttered breathlessly, sweat trailing along his temple, catching the breeze as he moved. He glanced back—just briefly.

  The faint, distant crackle of azul lightning behind him haunted the edges of his hearing. “That girl is insane…” Kite exhaled, his words almost a wheeze. His grin twitched nervously. “Strong as heck too…”

  Salti chimed in—a frantic chrrrp! Of uneasy agreement—even as she fired another line of shimmering thread from the tiny spinneret-like mouth on his right wrist.

  Kite’s green eyes narrowed as his expression darkened slightly—the pulse of exhilaration giving way to sharp focus. He could feel It.

  The subtle pull of energy from Salti’s bodies on his wrists. “…Running out of duplicates,” Kite muttered under his breath.

  The threads clinging to his arms were still strong—but the sensation was thinner now. The borrowed strength from his synthetic partners was burning faster than he’d like.

  “Gotta lose her soon…” Kite whispered. His body twisted mid-air again, flipping expertly over a row of overhead pipes—and then… something caught his eye.

  Time seemed to slow. He barely registered his body moving, but his sharp gaze flicked sideways, locking onto something… someone… tucked away in the shadows of a side hallway he was swinging past.

  His stomach tightened. A figure—small, curled up—trembling. Kite fully turned his head mid-swing, his heart hitching in his chest as he caught sight of her.

  A girl. A teenage robot girl.

  She sat slumped against the cold metal wall, knees pulled tight to her chest, her body quivering with barely contained sobs. Her head was buried in her folded arms, shoulders shaking as fragile, broken hiccups escaped her.

  She wore what was clearly a hybrid uniform—part pirate, part bartender, part maid—but all of it dirty, stained, and disheveled from the chaos. Her black and blue skirt was torn at the edges, her apron hanging loose.

  Patches of reinforced armor were integrated seamlessly into her sleeves and corset, subtly protecting key joints. Her cybernetic arms shook as they gripped her knees, the smooth metal plating along her forearms scratched and dirtied.

  Her blue irises, mechanical but hauntingly expressive, glowed faintly through the gaps in her arms, flickering like stormy ocean lights. A fallen fedora lay near her boot, a bartender’s hat, scuffed and dirt-stained, resting among scattered piles of tossed laundry and upended cleaning supplies.

  A laundry cart, dented and toppled, had fallen over in front of her like a useless shield. Torn linens and damp clothes were scattered all around her like debris from a forgotten battlefield.

  And from her lips—between sobs—came a broken, pleading whisper: “P-please… just go away…” she whimpered to herself. “I-I just wanna go home… please…”

  Kite’s already faint smile—little more than a breath of expression—wavered. Then, as the soft, broken sobs reached his ears again, it vanished entirely. Gone like smoke in the wind.

  His enhanced hearing picked up every quiver in her voice, every stuttering breath caught in her throat. The kind of crying that came from someplace deeper than pain—closer to collapse. It wasn’t loud. But it didn’t need to be. It carried like a haunting, threading through the mechanical veins of the skyship and finding its way into his chest.

  Kite swung a little further through the corridor on his synthetic threads, the world blurring past him—but his mind didn’t blur with it. Instead, it stalled. He let go mid-swing, flipping silently in the air, and landed in a crouch. His worn shoes touched the cold metal floor with a soundless thud. Steam hissed faintly from the nearby valves as he straightened.

  He paused. Behind him, the sound of soft crying curled back through the air like smoke. Kite turned his head, just slightly. Hesitating.

  Salti chirped once from his wrist—soft, curious, almost concerned. Her duplicate, clinging to his opposite arm, mirrored the noise with a quieter tone. They waited.

  Somewhere far behind them, the skyship trembled with the distant boom of lightning—faint, but unmistakable. Liora.

  Kite’s jaw tensed. That sound wasn’t just thunder. It was her wrath, hunting him like a storm given shape. He didn’t need to see her to know she was coming. Every footstep he didn’t take forward was one step closer to being caught. And if she caught him…

  “She’ll kill me,” he whispered to himself. The words left his lips like a confession. As if saying them aloud might somehow dull their weight.

  But he didn’t move. Instead, his eyes drifted slowly back—back to the shadowed side hall where he’d seen her. The girl. Huddled and trembling like a cracked doll forgotten in the wreckage.

  Kite’s breath caught. The image rose again in his mind, vivid and clear: her curled-up form, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, head buried like she was trying to vanish into herself. Torn linens and clothes scattered around her like battlefield debris. A fallen hat. Glowing blue eyes peeking through trembling fingers, flickering with broken hope.

  “P-please… just go away…” Her voice had been so small. And now, it echoed in his mind—refusing to leave. Scraping at the walls of his thoughts like nails on glass. Kite closed his eyes, just for a second, and clenched his fists. Hard. His nails bit into his palms, but it didn’t anchor him—it just deepened the ache.

  “She’s just a distraction,” a voice whispered inside him. Cold. Detached. The new part. The calculating part. The part that had been growing ever since he had donned his possessed bracelets. ‘’She’s a liability. A witness. One more person who might say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Just walk away.’’

  But another voice stirred within him—softer, older. Quieter than the rising darkness, yet still stronger. It was the voice of the boy he’d always been—the one who always stepped in, who always cared. The gentle soul who couldn’t bring himself to crush a bug, let alone abandon someone in pain. That part of him didn’t whisper. It screamed.

  “She’s scared. Alone. Are you really going to walk away from her?”

  Kite bit his lip, hard. His breathing was shaky now. His chest felt tight. He could feel Salti watching him—no movement, no clicks—just quiet waiting, as if even she knew this wasn’t just about him anymore.

  For a long, aching moment, he stood there—caught between who he used to be and what he was now becoming. Then… his fists loosened.

  Kite sighed. A heavy, weary sound that carried the weight of a hundred sleepless nights. He took one step back. Then another.

  But something cracked in him as he did. He threw up a hand, shaking his head with a bitter curse under his breath. His wrist flicked sharply downward—and Salti fired.

  A gleaming silver thread launched up and latched to the ceiling above. The line pulled taut, humming like a violin string.

  And Kite vanished with it. He swung away. Fast. Without looking back. Around the corner and into the winding steel maze of the skyship. His beige jacket flared behind him like the tail of a ghost, his silhouette swallowed by pipes and shadows.

  Behind him, the sobs still echoed. Alone. Forgotten.

  The robotic girl sat slumped against the cold, metal wall, her knees drawn tightly to her chest as though trying to fold herself out of existence. Her trembling lips barely parted as she choked back sobs, her voice little more than a breath lost in the din of distant chaos.

  Her face was buried In the crook of her arms, her slender frame quivering. Blue light pulsed faintly from the hairline cracks running along her cybernetic arms—like veins flickering with a failing heartbeat. The glow was uneven, sickly, stuttering beneath her skin with every shallow breath.

  Around her, the world didn’t seem to care. The laundry cart beside her, dented and useless, gave a faint creak as one of its black-gold wheels twitched under some invisible breeze. It was the only movement in the stillness.

  Beneath her, the scattered clothing had long soaked up the oil dripping from her eyes—dark, inky tears staining the soft fabrics with a grief no fabric could wash away. “P-Please…” she whispered again, her voice hoarse and cracking like a glitch in her programming. “Please… just leave me alone…”

  But there was no one left to answer. Her mind drifted—not fully awake, not fully dreaming—as memories began to rise and crash like waves inside her chest. Her thoughts wandered backward, past the skyship, past the years of fear and loneliness, back to a time wrapped in snow and warmth.

  Back to the Eternal Winter. She remembered the soft glow of firelight flickering through frosted windows. The way her mother’s hands always smelled of lavender and solder. Her father’s low, comforting voice as he read aloud from old books while wind howled outside their cabin walls.

  Her siblings—the twins—chasing each other around the narrow room, bundled up in oversized coats, their laughter like music. They used to sing together. Four voices tangled in joyful chaos.

  She remembered her little brother giving her a hand-knit scarf—crooked and far too long. “So you won’t freeze, dummy,” he’d said, but his eyes were worried. Her sister had once painted her metal fingernails bright pink using melted crayon wax. “Now you look pretty and scary,” she’d giggled.

  They’d danced once, on the frozen lake, when the moon was full and the ice glowed. All of them holding hands, slipping and laughing in the dark. She could still feel their fingers.

  And then—the storm. The screaming. The cold that swallowed everything. One moment they had all been holding hands… the next they were trying to stay alive.

  That was four years ago. Her shoulders shook as a sob escaped her lips, sharper now. “I miss you,” she whispered, almost inaudibly. “I miss you all so much…” Her voice broke like splintered glass. “I just wanna see you again… I just wanna go home…”

  But the words hung in the air like ghosts. There was no home. Just cold metal, flickering lights, and the distant threat of being forgotten. Of being abandoned.

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  The girl slowly looked down at her hands—her once-shiny forearms, now dented, scuffed, patched in places with low-grade plating. “Why do I even try anymore?” she whispered bitterly, more to herself than to anyone else. “What’s the point? One day I’ll just be… broken down. Scrapped. Thrown out like parts that don’t fit.”

  She hiccuped. More tears—thick, dark oil—streamed down her cheeks, leaving streaks that caught the dim light. They fell onto her clothes, her hands, the floor.

  Her soul-core, hidden beneath her torn blouse, pulsed dimly—an aching blue glow radiating from her back. It cast soft illumination against the shadows crawling along the corridor walls. Faint. Fragile. Like the heartbeat of a star slowly dying.

  She curled in tighter, her voice now only breath, and let the sobs come unfiltered—shuddering, hopeless, raw. The girl who had once danced in the moonlight with her siblings now wept alone in a forgotten hallway, the world moving on without her.

  And somewhere in the ship above, the chaos raged. But down here—nothing moved but her tears. Nothing answered but the silence.

  That is—until a voice, quiet and kind, broke through the suffocating silence like the first crack of dawn through a stormy sky. “…I think you dropped this, Miss.”

  The girl’s breath hitched as if the very air had betrayed her. The sobs froze in her throat. Her head rose slowly, cautiously, as though emerging from beneath a heavy weight. Her tear-streaked eyes blinked through the dim light—adjusting—and then widened in disbelief.

  There he was. A boy—young, lanky, and strangely out of place—was kneeling in front of her. His jacket was dusty, shoes scuffed, hair windswept and wild, but his green eyes were steady. Gentle. And in his outstretched hand… her fedora. Worn, stained, slightly bent along the brim. But still hers.

  He smiled—softly, nervously. The kind of smile that didn’t ask anything of her. The kind that didn’t need words.

  For a moment, the silence between them deepened—not heavy, but delicate. Awkward, almost shy.

  The girl stared, unsure if he was real. Her lips parted, trembling as if forming words was an unfamiliar act. “…W-What…?” she managed to whisper, her voice hoarse and fragile.

  Her trembling hand reached out—hesitating midair like she feared the fedora might disappear, like it might turn to ash if she touched it. But it didn’t. She grasped it carefully, fingers wrapping tightly around the brim, clutching it like a lifeline.

  Something about the boy—his posture, the tone in his voice, the warmth in his eyes—coaxed a strange, unfamiliar feeling from her: safety. It was like stepping into a room and realizing, for the first time in years, that the walls wouldn’t fall in on her.

  Her eyes drifted past him, drawn by movement behind his shoulder. Dozens—no, hundreds—of tiny white spider-like creatures moved in perfect sync through a lattice of silver thread spun across the corridor. Synthetic webs shimmered in the soft light, clinging to the rafters and beams like strands of moonlight woven by clockwork.

  Each of Salti’s duplicates performed a task with meticulous care—one gently righted the tipped laundry cart, while others used silken threads to gather and lift the strewn clothing, folding it delicately before placing it back in the cart like sacred offerings.

  The sight was strange. Surreal. Beautiful.

  But it was the boy’s voice again—soft, sincere—that pulled her gaze back to him. “You don’t have to worry anymore,” Kite said, his smile returning with quiet assurance. “I’ve got you.”

  The girl flinched at his words, just slightly, and her breath stuttered in her chest as he leaned forward. She didn’t move as his hand gently reached toward her cheek, pausing just briefly—giving her the chance to pull away.

  She didn’t. His fingers were warm as they brushed against her cold metal skin, wiping away the trail of oil with a touch so delicate it felt human.

  “The monsters are gone,” he whispered, eyes meeting hers. “They won’t hurt you anymore.”

  Her chest rose and fell unevenly, struggling to breathe through the emotion crashing inside her like a rising tide. She stared at him—this strange, silver-threaded boy with storm-chased eyes and the kindness of someone who couldn’t possibly exist.

  And after a long, trembling pause… she finally spoke. “…Who… who are you?” Her voice barely rose above a whisper, as though speaking too loudly might break the fragile moment between them.

  She clutched the fedora tighter, the fabric damp with her tears, her fingers curling into the brim. Kite blinked, briefly surprised by the question. His smile faltered, just a flicker—but then it returned, soft as ever.

  “I’m Kite,” he said. “Kite Caulder.” There was a quiet beat. Then, his voice gentled further. “What’s your name?”

  She stared at him for a second, as if testing the sound of his name in her head. Something softened in her, and slowly, she lowered her gaze. Her brow furrowed faintly, the grief still heavy in her chest.

  “…Clementine,” she murmured. “My name’s Clementine.”

  She paused. Her next words came slower. Sadder. “…Clementine Whitlock.”

  Kite didn’t say anything at first. He heard the ache in her voice. The way her last name was heavier than the first. Like it carried too many memories.

  Finally, he nodded once. “That’s a nice name, Clementine,” he said sincerely, his voice quieter now.

  She sniffled, her breath catching as she gave a tiny nod in return. Then, after another moment of silence, her voice cracked open again.

  “My dad gave me it…” she whispered. “He said it reminded him of a flower.”

  Kite tilted his head, eyes softening even more, listening with everything in him. She stared down at the fedora in her lap, her thumb running across its edge.

  “He said… he got the idea from a flower that only grows in the forest during winter. It’s called Clemina. Said it was sacred… said it bloomed even when everything else was frozen.”

  Her voice hitched, the last word shaking like a leaf in wind. Kite’s green eyes softened, a veil of sympathy drawing across them like mist over glass. His voice, when it came, was gentle—fragile even. As if the truth he was about to speak was a wound he didn’t want to deepen. “…And… he’s no longer around, is he?”

  Clementine didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stared down at the fedora cradled in her lap, her fingers tightening around its brim like she was holding onto the last remaining piece of a world long gone. Her lips quivered. Her expression—locked in that delicate balance between composure and collapse—shifted ever so slightly as she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

  A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth, and her throat bobbed with the effort to keep her sorrow buried. “My family was lost… in a snowstorm,” she whispered, the words dragging across her tongue like stones. “A few years back.”

  Her voice trembled with quiet restraint, but the ache behind it was deafening. Kite blinked slowly, leaning forward just a bit as she lifted her eyes to meet his. They were glistening now, catching the faint glow of the soul-core on her back, a shimmer of blue washing over her face like moonlight on water.

  “We were dancing,” she continued, “all of us. Skating together on the frozen lake behind our cabin. It was clear that night… peaceful. We laughed. We held hands. My little brother fell trying to spin, and we all collapsed into each other just laughing…”

  A trembling breath escaped her. “And then it hit us.”

  Her voice fell into a whisper—tight, trembling. “The wind… the cold… it came from nowhere. Like the sky cracked open and all the warmth was sucked out.”

  Kite’s brows furrowed in quiet alarm, the edges of his mind flickering with familiarity. “A snowstorm?” he echoed, his voice low, a whisper of realization. Images of Bastion and Felix’s words from the day before flickered through his thoughts like forgotten puzzle pieces shifting into place.

  Clementine nodded slowly, her eyes drifting toward the floor again, somewhere between here and there. “I didn’t know what was happening. I tried to hold onto my sister’s hand—but she slipped. And then something hit me. Ice, wind—I don’t know. I was just… in the air.” Her voice cracked. “Spinning. Falling. Alone.”

  She swallowed the lump rising in her throat, her whole frame shivering—not from cold, but from memory. “I didn’t think I’d survive…”

  Her words trailed off into a whisper, barely audible. Kite leaned in slightly, his gaze gentle but curious. “And then?” he asked softly, sensing there was more.

  Clementine’s breath hitched, and for a moment she was quiet. Her blue irises pulsed faintly, shifting into a lighter shade—like the color of sky reflected on snow.

  “But then…” she said, voice barely above breath, “when I was falling… I saw a figure.”

  Kite tilted his head. “A figure?” His voice held a quiet awe. “Like… an angel?”

  Clementine gave a small, breathy laugh—dry and bittersweet, tinged with disbelief. The kind of laugh you give when your soul aches but somehow finds room for wonder.

  “I… I think it was,” she said, wiping the remnants of oil-tears from her cheek with the back of her hand. “It glowed. Even through the blizzard.”

  Her gaze rose upward, as if she could still see it. And for the first time since they’d met, a faint smile danced across her lips. It wasn’t happiness—but it was something like peace And fondness.

  “I remember it clearly…” she murmured. “It was clad in a strange suit—all white. Smooth and silent. Its cape… it moved like snow in the stars. Like ivory stardust.”

  Kite stared, enthralled. His heart thudded softly against his ribs, a whisper in the dark. “What else?” he asked.

  Clementine’s voice softened into reverence. “And its aura… it was violet. Not like any light I’d ever seen. Not like fire. Not like magic. It burned brighter than even the twin suns above our old cabin. Brighter than anything in that frozen sky.”

  Her words lingered for a breath. Then her shoulders slumped.

  “But that’s all I remember,” she whispered. “I passed out… and when I woke up, I was alone. I haven’t seen my family since before I arrived here.”

  The light in her eyes dimmed again, flickering like the final embers of a once-roaring fire. She clutched the fedora to her chest, pressing it over her heart like it could somehow bring them back.

  Kite sat in silence, the weight of Clementine’s pain pressing on his chest like a slow-turning gear. His fingers twitched beside him, aching to reach out, to say something, anything—but the words tangled in his throat like thread caught on rusted hooks.

  Around them, the corridor had gone still. The only sound was the distant, sharp crackle of Liora’s wrath—like the sky was splitting open just a few decks above. Lightning boomed, muffled and relentless, its electric echoes dancing through the skyship’s iron bones.

  And then—without warning—Clementine’s eyes welled again. Thick tears of black oil traced down her dark grey cheeks, glistening under the faint light as they slipped silently past the metal seams of her jaw. Her lips quivered, barely able to hold together the storm behind them.

  “I don’t know why I even try anymore…” she whispered. Her gaze drifted slowly to the laundry cart—the one now upright, its scattered clothes folded and carefully tucked back inside by Salti’s many diligent copies. For a moment, she just stared at it.

  “I’m just another slave in this land,” she said, voice cracking like fractured circuitry. “Working day and night without rest… knowing I’ll be thrown away the moment my circuits flicker. The moment I’m no longer useful.”

  Her voice trembled with a weariness no child should carry. Like a soul carved too early from its purpose.

  Kite’s heart clenched. He opened his mouth to speak—but she beat him to it. “I’ve got nothing left to live for.”

  She wiped at her tears with the back of her trembling metal hand. Her fingers smeared the oil, leaving faint black streaks across her cheek. Her voice was low, hollow.

  And still, Kite said nothing. Not yet. He lowered his gaze, processing the words, feeling the hurt inside them.

  Then—he exhaled. Quiet and steady, like letting go of a held breath he didn’t realize he’d taken. A small, sad smile crept to his face.

  “That’s not true, Clementine,” he said gently, his voice like silk weaving through steel. “You’ve still got a family to find, right?”

  She blinked. Caught off guard, Clementine sniffled and slowly looked up. Her tear-glazed eyes met his, and in them flickered something like disbelief.

  “You survived,” Kite continued. “Who’s to say that angel didn’t save your family too?”

  The hope in his voice sounded absurd—but real. Unshakable. Like a sunbeam pushing through frostbitten glass.

  Clementine turned her gaze away again, uncertainty flickering across her features. “I-I don’t know…” she murmured. “It’s been so long…”

  Her voice grew distant, drifting into the fog of memory. She remembered her little brother chasing snowflakes, trying to catch them on his tongue. Her sister’s laugh echoing through the trees, mittened hands tucked into hers. Her father calling them inside, the firelight behind him painting his silhouette gold.

  Her mother humming softly as she ladled soup into chipped mugs. The way the steam curled through their small home. The warm, gentle way she brushed the snow from Clementine’s shoulders and whispered, “You are our light, my little star.”

  Her chest tightened. The memories were beautiful—but they hurt. They hurt so much.

  “Even if they are alive,” she whispered, “what if… what if they’ve moved on?” Her lips shook. The words fought their way out, raw and unguarded. “What if they’ve forgotten about me?”

  Kite’s expression didn’t falter. He didn’t look away.

  He shook his head with quiet certainty, his voice low but steady. “You know that’s not true, Clementine. Your family loves you.”

  Then, he stood. The motion was slow, almost ceremonial. The threads of light above shimmered faintly as Kite rose, silhouetted against the soft pulse of Salti’s webs.

  Clementine’s eyes widened slightly. She hadn’t realized how tall he was until he stood there—tired, scraped, so much younger than her, but somehow… larger than life.

  And then his hand extended toward her. A simple gesture.

  But to Clementine—it felt like the universe offering her a second chance. “So don’t give up,” Kite said softly. “You’ll find them one day. You will see your family again.”

  His voice carried no hesitation. No doubt. Just truth spoken with the clarity of belief.

  Clementine stared up at him in awe. Her lips parted, but no words came out. Just a quiet breath, as though even speaking might shatter what was forming in her chest.

  This boy—this stranger—was risking everything to make sure she was okay. A human, offering his hand to an automaton—a girl society would cast off without a second thought. A girl broken and stained, worn down by years of abandonment. But to him… she was someone worth saving.

  Kite Caulder. A boy who looked death in the eye… and chose compassion anyway.

  And in that moment—something stirred in Clementine. Not love. Not grief.

  Something gentler. Something stronger.

  A flicker of warmth in the cold gears of her chest. A feeling she hadn’t known in years. One powerful enough to pierce through the gloom like a star cutting through midnight.

  She didn’t know if it would last. Didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.

  But right here. Right now… she felt hope.

  Real, true hope. And for the first time in years—she reached up, and took someone’s hand.