Finally...
She mutters to herself, her voice scraping out dry and rough, like sandpaper against bare metal.
Propped against the doorframe, Nemo stares into the blue glow filling the room. He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaustion settling deep in the gesture.
The Chaos Contamination is spreading faster. According to Julian's projections, the base's force field can only hold for another month, at most.
...I know. We have to go soon.
And Lucia... have you... have we decided?
Nemo stops mid-sentence, correcting himself. Somewhere along the way, the small figure has become someone they all care about, though he can't say exactly when it happened.
...
Leora lowers her head. Her fingers trace something on the desk, absent and aimless. It's a green frog plush stitched from old fabric, its seams crooked and uneven.
She'd worked on it in secret these past few nights. Once Lucia drifted off, she would sit beside her and sew, stitch by careful stitch, lit only by her terminal's dim glow, pricking her fingers again and again.
If we leave, she'll definitely want to come with us.
Leora lets the thought flicker through her mind, just for an instant, before she closes her eyes, pained.
I'll be terrified of seeing it... how she runs after us. What awful adults we've become, Nemo.
What's your plan? If you don't have one, I'll use mine.
Leora turns the green frog in her hands, letting her gaze fall to its back. At the tail, the stitching ends in a knot, not the neatest work.
It's all right. I'll do it. Lucia's a good kid... She loves stories.
So let's end this goodbye with a kind one.
You're doing great, Lucia. You pick things up so quickly.
Head still bowed, Lucia writes on. She completes one line, hesitates a moment, and lifts her gaze.
Leora... you came out so early today. Usually... you don't come out until dark.
My work... I finished sooner than I expected.
A soft smile crosses Leora's face. She reaches out and smooths back the fine hairs from Lucia's brow.
...Your hand! What happened?
Without thinking, Leora draws her right hand behind her back. Her fingertips are dotted with small needle marks.
I bumped into some equipment in the lab. It's nothing, really.
For two seconds, Lucia holds Leora's gaze. Her lips tighten. Then she drops her head and says nothing more.
Core Work Area
Evening
The program for key-frame adaptation is ready. We'll proceed tonight and leave at dawn.
Alright... So, what did you tell Lucia?
I haven't told her yet.
Something knots behind Leora's eyes. She's turning it over, struggling.
...
No one answers. The lights drone overhead, a mosquito hum threading through the quiet.
Nemo rests against the corner wall, the dressing on his arm still dark with old seepage. He reads Leora's face, then lowers his eyes.
We're out of time, Leora.
I know.
Leora opens her eyes and takes a deep breath.
Just... let me have one last night with her.
...Lucia.
Hm?
Tomorrow... the others and I are going on a long trip.
...
We've finished making the "keys." But we need to send them somewhere very far away. And we have to go ourselves.
Lucia looks at Leora, still and quiet.
It won't... take too long.
Leora's voice wavers, thin and slight. She presses her teeth to her tongue, holding the quiver at bay.
Once the "keys" are delivered, everyone's going to work together. To cure this world.
As though something is lodged in her throat, Leora lets each word out one at a time.
So, Lucia... you wait for us here at the base.
Eat well. Sleep well. Take good care of the dandelions. Wait for us to come back.
...Okay?
Okay.
Her answer comes fast, as though it had been ready long before it was asked.
...
...Good night, Lucia.
It's lighter than any goodnight she has ever spoken.
Mm.
Good night, Leora.
Leora is the first to close her eyes. Her hand keeps rubbing Lucia's back, slow and steady, as she listens in the dark for the even cadence of sleep. But the minutes stretch on, and the girl's breathing never evens out.
Lucia hasn't learned how to fake sleep yet.
...
Running, chasing, racing across the soft grass of the backyard. The afternoon light still holds its warmth, golden-orange.
The wolf's coming! The wolf's coming! Run, guys!
Roar! Just watch me catch all you little cupcakes!
Leora throws her arms wide, laughing and calling out as she runs across the grass. Before her, a tumble of children shrieks with laughter.
Got you!
Laughing, Leora lunges for the boy trailing at the back.
But the moment her fingertips graze that washed-out shirt, the softness in her arms dissolves into cold nothing.
Huh?
Leora freezes in confusion, but the game's momentum drags her forward all the same.
And you!
She turns, arms outstretched, toward a girl with her hair in twin braids.
But the instant their skin meets, the child crumbles, her form flaking off like porcelain struck too hard.
Where did you go?
...
She reaches for the drawing. Her fingertips graze the wall, and the paper turns to ash in an instant, spilling through the brickwork like a whisper.
Then, she hears those voices.
Leora, what's that hero called?
She doesn't have a name yet.
Leora... It hurts...
Jackie... Hang in there!
Leora... help us...
Amy...
They multiply, these voices, pulling farther and farther away, blurring at the edges into a fractured murmur she can no longer parse. It's as if many people are speaking at once, somewhere far off, all saying the same thing.
Then the voices drift further, fading into the distance, until there is nothing left to hear.
Time loses its shape. She finds herself standing in a darkness without end.
Then, somewhere far ahead, a light flickers into being.
It's just a small point of brightness, the kind from the story Leora once told. A lone star, burning softly in the black, asking nothing of the dark around it.
It's the child who was lying beside her.
Lucia is curled there in the heart of the light, fast asleep, tiny and tucked into herself.
...
Leora watches her for a long, long time.
From her pocket, she draws out the finished frog plush and lays it gently beside Lucia's hand.
Her fingers drift over the crown of Lucia's head, hovering there for a long, aching moment. Then, slowly, she withdraws.
I'm sorry, Lucia.
She gets to her feet, slow and heavy. Then she turns away and walks into the darkness.
Someone... has to become the hero of the story.
In her daze, the drawings rise softly beneath her feet, crumbling away into luminous dust. The dust lifts, scatters, and slowly shapes itself into a path.
She must leave now.
Step by step she walks, each footfall crushing another drawing, each step sending fresh sparks of light drifting into the air.
Ahead, only the endless dark. Behind her, the light shrinks, smaller and smaller.
Her fingers find the doorknob—
...Leora.
Leora stops in her tracks.
Lucia...?
Lucia stands at the far end of the corridor, barefoot, the green plush clutched to her chest. Her hair is still a mess from sleep she never fell into.
Don't worry. I heard some unusual noise from the force field. Just need to check on it in the work area.
As Leora speaks, she turns her face slightly away, her gaze slipping from Lucia's eyes down to her shoulder.
It's barely a movement, but Lucia sees it anyway.
She sees the tremor in Leora's lashes. The way her fingers clench the hem of her shirt, trembling, bone-white at the knuckles.
Just go back to bed. It won't take long, and then I'll—
It's okay, Leora.
Lucia pads over softly and reaches out, resting both her hands on Leora's with the lightest touch.
Leora's hands are cold. They're trembling, like a string drawn too tight, on the verge of snapping.
Without another word, Lucia tightens her grip, her small hands wrapping around Leora's much larger one, as if she could lend her strength, as if she could hold her together.
Lucia?
I know, Leora.
Lucia speaks with a quiet evenness, the kind of steady tone the adults have used around her, day after day in this base. She has learned to sound like them.
You've been through a lot, Leora.
The lab lights stay on every night. Sometimes past midnight. I can hear your in there...
When you cry by yourself, you close the door. But the light below the door still moves.
Leora's mouth draws tight, a flicker of tension running through her jaw.
When Aunt Helga died... you stayed up all night holding her things. The day Julian died, you sat in the comms room for hours, just looking at the screen.
Every time you come out of the lab and see me, you smile. But when you turn around... your face goes all tired.
......
You carry everything by yourself, Leora.
Lucia's hands tighten a little more around Leora's.
Nemo, Chris, Helga, Julian, too... all of you...
She pauses, as if searching for the right word.
You've worked so hard.
Harder than anyone.
Leora can't bring herself to turn. One look into those eyes, she knows, and the pretense would shatter.
So...
I'll be good. Just go.
Lucia releases Leora's hand and steps back a pace. She straightens her spine, stands as tall as her small body allows. Even so, she only comes up to Leora's shoulder when she's crouching.
I can take care of things at home!
I'll water the dandelions. I know how to change the water filter every three days. The food is in the third cabinet. I counted. There's enough for a long time.
Chris... he taught me how to use the weapons in the storage room. I haven't used a laser gun yet, but I think I can figure it out.
And if the force field goes off, turn the right knob two clicks to the left. Nemo showed me that too.
Lucia lists each task, one by one, her fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against her side like she's reciting from a checklist.
So don't worry about me. Just go do your thing.
I...
She stops short. When she speaks again, her voice carries the hint of a held-back cry.
I'll take care of everything here, but...
She musters all her strength and manages a warm, trembling smile.
Just... come back soon, okay?
The moment the words leave her mouth, her eyes flush red.
But she holds it back. Her mouth draws thin, her jaw squared. She fights against it like she's struggling to keep something locked inside.
I'll water the dandelions... every day... and wait for you...
Her voice starts to shake.
By the time you come back... the new ones will have bloomed... the little yellow flowers...
She draws a sharp, noisy breath through her nose and drags her sleeve across her eyes in one hasty motion.
I'll show them to you then...
She knows what it means, going far away. Her father went. Her mother went. She's always known.
But she should still say her goodbye with a smile. Because that's what grown-ups do. What dependable people do.
Dependable grown-ups will smile at a farewell and say travel safe, say come home soon, and swallow their tears until their back is turned.
She's seen it so many times.
So, you have to...
A tear drops from her lashes. Her hand flies up to catch it, but the next one is already gathering, ready to spill.
You have to... come back...
Her words fracture as they leave her, scraping past her teeth in broken pieces.
......
At last, Leora turns. She sees Lucia's face, a child fighting to hold a smile in place, her small features working so hard to keep it from slipping.
Leora had thought the stories, the false promises of "I'll be back soon," would be enough to convince a little girl.
But Lucia has always known. From the beginning, she knew everything.
She understands, too, that grown-ups sometimes need someone to believe their lies.
...Lucia!
Leora opens her mouth, and her voice comes out stronger than ever before.
I'm sorry, Lucia. I...
Tears come first—big, unrestrained—streaming from Leora's eyes.
Then her arms open wide, and she wraps them around Lucia's small, slight body.
See? I'm crying too. The grown-up is crying. So you can cry now. You don't have to hold it in anymore. Not ever again, Lucia!
......
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. We failed... and we made a child become a grown-up because of it...
Thank you. For taking care of us all this time.
Lucia's face, pressed into Leora's chest, begins to pinch and crumple, a slow collapse of all her held-together bravery.
Just be a kid, Lucia. Run around, make a mess, get mad at stupid things... however you want. I don't want to see another child forced to grow up too fast... who can't even say they're scared.
The tip of Lucia's nose flushes a bright, raw red.
I... I...
Everything we did... wasn't it all so you could just be a kid? A carefree kid?
Lucia chokes, hard, on the grief caught in her throat, and then it breaks loose. A wail spills out of her, loud and shuddering.
I... I don't understand any of those big papers! "Seffra low fresh hold," "Project Sting single pro-call"... I don't know what they mean and it scares me! They are not fairy tales that I can understand and it scares me!
I was scared when the dandelion seeds were not sprouting for days!
I was scared when Nemo wouldn't talk to me at first!
I was scared when Helga and Julian were gone!
I was scared when Chris was going to hurt you!
I was scared everyone's going to lose their minds! This world made me scared. This place made me scared...
Leora... I was scared. I was really scared!
Lucia bursts into loud, unguarded wailing.
I tried to be brave because you were all still here... But now everyone's leaving me...
Wah—
Lucia's small shoulders convulse against Leora's chest. Her crying is buried in the fabric of Leora's shoulder, the words lost, but the wetness seeping through is unmistakable.
Leora cries with her, arms locked tight around that tiny body, one hand pressed to the back of Lucia's head—stroking hard, again and again, as if the rhythm might hold them both together.
It goes on a long while. Maybe a goodbye only takes hold when the tears have all run dry.
Leora's tears soak into Lucia's hair. She doesn't wipe them away.
I'm so sorry... I promise. I'll come back as soon as I can.
Her voice is still trembling.
When I come back, we'll look for Luna together.
We'll go see the dandelions bloom.
Lucia keeps her face buried, nodding against Leora's chest.
Leora's hand finds the plush toy cradled between them and presses it softly.
And this one... it's my gift for you. Its name is Froggie.
...Froggie?
Mhm. From a really cute cartoon. When I come back, we'll watch it together, okay?
...Okay.
She gives her answer begrudgingly, a childish stubbornness surfacing.
It'll keep you company while I'm gone.
When you hold it to sleep, it'll be like I'm right there.
At last, Lucia raises her face. She drags Froggie to her chest and grips it hard, holding on as though it, too, might slip away.
When the dandelions bloom. When the Chaos Contamination is gone...
Leora extends her hand, running her thumb gently across Lucia's flushed cheeks to wipe away the final streak of tears.
We'll be back home.
...Okay.
I'll wait for you.
Just... don't break your promise.
Leora wraps Lucia in her arms one final time.
She holds her and holds her, long enough to learn it all by heart—the warmth of that small body, its weight against her, the steady pulse beneath the skin, the faint smell of dandelions caught in the fabric of her clothes.
Then she lets go.
She gets to her feet and turns away.
The corridor stretches ahead, long and bare. Her footsteps echo on the metal floor, each one a little quieter, a little farther away.
She holds back her tears, not looking back.
At the corridor's end, Nemo leans against the wall. His gaze settles on her, heavy with quiet understanding. In silence, he pushes off the wall and walks with her toward the exit.
The other three stand ready at the door, their gear secured, the five "keys" glowing faintly within their frames.
Without a word exchanged, all five of them stop for a breath before the final door.
Goodbye, Lucia.
As one, the vanguard team draws a deep breath and steps forward.
And then the corridor holds only Lucia.
Lucia stays where she is, clutching Froggie, barefoot on the cold floor. She listens as the footsteps travel from near to far, from crisp to muffled, until the low hum of the force field generator swallows them whole.
Until nothing is left to hear.
She looks down at Froggie in her arms. One black button eye, one gray. Both stare back at her, crooked and uneven.
Lucia adjusts its arms, folding the bigger one down a little, pulling the smaller one up. There. Now they're almost the same.
Then, cradling Froggie close, she makes her way slowly back to her room.
When she passes by the flower bed, she stops, her gaze falling on the dandelions.
A few have begun to bud. Small, green balls are forming, tucked tight at the tips of their stems.
Lucia crouches down and touches one lightly with her finger.
...Bloom soon, okay?
She rises, holds Froggie closer, and steps into her room.
The corridor settles back into silence. The force field generator hums on, low and steady, like the only heart still beating in this base.
In the flower bed, the dandelions sway gently beneath the lights, growing without a sound.
