NOVPUBAugust 15, Clear Skies, Hestia’s Home
The girl sat alone in her bedroom. A suitcase lay open on the bed, surrounded by scattered items: clothes, keepsakes from her childhood, beloved photo albums, and more.
“What should I bring?” Kneeling on the bed, her eyes swept over the items as she pondered.
She knew that in the coming years, she would seldom return home. Treasured possessions, especially her sister’s collection of extraordinary ceremonial dresses, couldn’t be left behind.
“Fine, I’ll take it all,” she decided, even if it would mean extra work in the coming days. She gave up on picking and choosing, her fingers tracing a path through the air.
Purple starlight swirled, and many items from the bed and desk floated into the shimmering void, disappearing without a trace.
This spatial ability made storage incredibly convenient, though retrieving items could cause noticeable commotion, making it unsuitable for frequently used belongings.
After tucking away rare yet precious items into dimensional folds, her surroundings felt less cluttered. Only essentials remained: everyday clothing, pajamas, notebooks, sketchbooks, and small gifts from friends. She neatly packed them into her suitcase before testing its weight.
“Hmm, a bit heavy,” she mused.
Dragging the suitcase to the doorway, she left it there for now and turned back to gaze at the quiet, dust-layered room.
“I guess I should clean up. It just doesn’t feel right otherwise,” she murmured. Slipping off her shoes and socks for a pair of lightweight sandals, she headed to the bathroom for water and cleaning supplies, rolling up her sleeves and tying her hair back.
“Time to get to work!” Just as she was about to begin, she glanced behind her, nudging the large spider hiding in her shadow with her foot.
“No slacking off! At least help me clean the ceiling.” She crouched to pat the creature’s head.
The spider hissed softly in response—likely a “got it” in its own way—and suddenly leaped onto her head.
“Ugh, you’re pulling my hair again.” She swatted at it lightly, feeling her hair snag.
“...Fine, you can stay up there,” she relented. She’d grown accustomed to having the spider perched on her head.
Raising her arms slightly, she caused the water in the bucket to swirl. Under her control, it spun faster and faster before leaping out, forming miniature tornadoes that floated upward.
Since her abilities didn’t involve water-related transcendent sequences, she had to rely on general telekinetic formulas to manipulate the liquid—less efficient and more tiring. But it was enough for her needs.
The swirling water solidified into crystalline ice stools, rising to give her access to higher spots. Perched on one, she could easily clean the walls while the spider above her worked on the ceiling with a rag.
“Let’s get this done.”
After drawing more water, she meticulously cleaned every corner of the house. Her actions carried a faint trace of nostalgia, as if cherishing each moment.
Time passed as she moved through her tasks—ceiling, walls, cabinets, and hidden corners—discarding old, unused items. By 3 p.m., the house was immaculate, everything neatly arranged.
A faint mist lingered in the air, and the floors were still damp, but none of it dampened her lighthearted mood.
Walking through the now pristine rooms with the spider by her side, she opened every door to ensure consistency.
“This’ll do,” she nodded softly.
Placing a high stool in the center of the living room, she retrieved a violin gifted by Amdusias before their farewell. Made of rosewood with intricate Thilan Flower engravings, it was an exquisite piece.
Sitting on the stool, she held the violin’s neck in one hand and the bow in the other, tuning it briefly before drawing the first notes.
The melody began simply and distantly, as if wandering through a maze of memories alone.
Closing her eyes, she adjusted the bow’s angle and rhythm. The music shifted, evoking sunlight filtering through forest leaves in spring, the languid warmth of summer, the crisp joy of autumn, and the serene comfort of winter.
Though rich in emotion, the music carried an ethereal longing, like memories obscured by a veil of time—tangible yet unreachable.
The melody rose and fell, repeating and returning, while a soft breeze passed through the house.
Gradually, a thin layer of frost formed in every corner, spreading outward.
As the song reached its conclusion, she lowered the bow. The room was now shrouded in ice crystals, silent and still.
The spider nudged her ankle with its fuzzy body, tickling her slightly.
“Alright, alright. No need for that. I’m really fine,” she said, leaping lightly off the stool and gazing around the frozen room.
Now, everything inside was preserved in this moment.
Placing the violin carefully back in its case, she walked to the door, picked up her packed suitcase, and turned one last time to wave at the living room.
“I’m off to school now,” she said, just as she used to say each morning as a child.
The door shut quietly, its locks clicking into place. The frost-covered home fell silent, frozen in time.
Pulling her suitcase along, she reached the roadside of the residential area, where a car awaited.
Irene stood by the car, waving to Hestia before helping load her luggage. The two climbed into the car.
As the view outside blurred behind gray-tinted glass, the old, cluttered building and its rusted tunnels faded from sight.
Seeing Hestia glance at the rearview mirror, Irene spoke softly.
“You’ll be back.”
“Mm,” Hestia nodded, then shook her head, signaling there was no need to worry.
“It’s just a bit bittersweet, that’s all.”
For many in the Federation, the summer of sixteen might have been just another time for gaming at home or hanging out with friends. Yet, years later, they would come to realize that on one ordinary day—shrouded in clouds and decisions—their lives diverged.
Choices made in half an hour, like which school to attend, would profoundly shape the decades ahead.
Even with hindsight, no one could alter those moments, bound as they were by the unpredictability of life’s twists and turns.
In this one and only life, all one could do was continue walking forward—through the joy and the tears.
