The light in the room hummed softly, a sterile but strangely comforting blue that pulsed from the panels embedded in the white ceiling and walls. The room was spacious, its modern edges clean and sharp, encased by vast glass windows that looked out into the night. Beyond the glass, darkness stretched infinitely—velvety, cosmic, broken only by scattered pinpricks of faint, distant starlight like dust flecks suspended in a void. The stars barely shimmered, faint and cold, like forgotten embers in the space.
Inside, Lunari sat slumped against a sleek, chrome table, her fingers loosely curled into the short strands of her pastel silver-blue hair. The soft waves at the ends brushed just past her shoulders, falling gently over her face in her usual off-center side part. Her eyes were half-lidded, a dull shade of grey reflecting both weariness and thought. She looked as if the room's atmosphere was pulling her under—into sleep, or something deeper.
"Lunari?" Eliara's voice broke through the hush, soft and curious. "What happened?"
Eliara, poised as always, sat beside her—dark mauve uniform crisp, amber eyes sharp and bright against the glow. She leaned forward on the edge of her chair, concern knotting her features. Her hair, midnight-black and neatly tied at the back, gave her a commanding, professional air that contrasted with the weariness etched across Lunari's face.
"I had the dream again," Lunari muttered, voice barely above a breath.
"Again?" Eliara's brows rose. "What dream?"
Lunari's fingers tangled tighter into her hair, as if trying to tug the answer from her scalp. "A dream of dying," she said, then paused, lips parting slowly. "Again and again."
Eliara blinked. "…You?"
"No," Lunari murmured. "It's not me who's dying. It's someone else. But it feels like it's me.'' The air grew heavy between them. The blue lights on the ceiling dimmed slightly, mimicking the cycle of artificial dusk.
Eliara's voice dropped to a whisper. "You've got it too, then…"
Lunari's eyes slid toward her, something unreadable flickering in their depths. "Probably."
"You should tell the heads," Eliara urged, sitting upright, her tone more serious. "They'll schedule a full neural audit if you report it. You know the rules."
"I don't want to," Lunari said, stifling a yawn. She stretched her arms and leaned back in her chair like a bored student. "That's why I haven't told anyone. Except you."
Eliara opened her mouth to respond, but the glass doors hissed open with a pressurized shhhkt. The low hum of the corridor's power lines buzzed in behind a tall, sharply dressed man whose brows were already furrowed in disappointment.
"You two are slacking again," Auren said, arms folded. His shadow stretched across the floor like a blade of authority.
Eliara shot up immediately, brushing down her coat and nudging Lunari's chair with a pointed heel. "Lunari," she hissed under her breath.
Lunari's eyes popped open wide, as if awoken from a daze. Her grey eyes blinked at Auren, unimpressed, as if she'd forgotten he even existed.
"You always look half-asleep," Auren snapped. "Even while you're standing!"
Lunari stood with a deliberately lazy air, grabbing her white lab coat from the back of her chair and slipping it on as though it weighed ten kilos. "Going to work, sir," she said, tapping a single finger to her forehead in mock salute. She grinned, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Honestly…" Eliara whispered, tugging her along out of the room as Auren turned away in irritation.
As they stepped into the corridor, the air was cooler—almost too cold. The walls shimmered faintly, reflecting blue light from the embedded lines on the floor that led the way down the quiet hall. Outside the glass panels that framed the corridor, the same deep night surrounded them—dot-sized lights in the void, stars lost in something greater than space. Something colder. Watching.
"Why do you always piss off Auren?" Eliara asked, exasperated.
"I don't," Lunari said with a slow shrug. "He's just always pissed. Even when there's nothing urgent to do."
"You say that," Eliara muttered, glancing behind her, "but he is our direct senior. One complaint and we're doing floor duty."
"He can complain all he wants. I'll just dream about it later." Her voice was dry, almost hollow. "Maybe I'll die there too."
Eliara didn't laugh. Instead, she looked at her friend for a long moment, something quiet and aching moving behind her amber gaze. "You really should tell someone. I mean it. These dreams aren't normal."
Lunari walked in silence, hands shoved into her lab coat pockets. The stars outside flickered faintly, uncaring. Her gaze drifted toward the void again.
"I don't want to tell anyone," she said finally. "Because I don't care if they stop."
"The dreams?"
She shook her head once.
"Everything.
They stepped into the main hall, and Lunari blinked against the shift in atmosphere. The space was vast and domed, designed in arcs of gleaming white, with veins of soft cobalt-blue lights streaking along the walls and ceiling like frozen lightning. It thrummed with quiet energy—like the heartbeat of Nocthelm itself. People were moving everywhere, a tide of white and grey uniforms, some carrying datapads, others standing in groups, talking in hushed excitement.
Above the main level, on the upper flight deck that arched like a balcony around the chamber, a group stood clad in striking white-and-blue jackets—the emblem of departure. They looked like something out of a ceremony, sharp against the glow. The crew ready to leave for the surface.
"So," Lunari muttered, her voice dry, "they're leaving today."
Eliara nodded beside her. "Yeah. After all this time… it's finally happening. The plan of so many years."
Lunari's gaze drifted upward, scanning the faces. Then her eyes caught him.
Yenith Draquor.
Dark-haired, tall, eyes like the deep ocean just before it storms—serene, but hiding something vast beneath. He was laughing with another staff member, his signature crooked grin lighting up his face in a way that made it hard not to look. He always carried himself like someone who knew—knew who he was, what he was doing, and why it mattered.
Lunari Saivein had worked at Nocthelm for three years. Three years of long corridors, glowing panels, silent nights, endless data. She had come here full of fire. She had wanted to be helpful—to serve her world, to make a difference, to prove that she mattered. That her choices had meaning.
But somewhere between all the progress reports, all the perfect planning, she'd realized… she wasn't sure what they were really aiming for anymore. Or maybe she did know. Maybe she just didn't feel it the way they did.
It was a good idea. A noble one. A mission that should have sparked excitement. And it had, for a time.
But somehow… it never quite fit her.
Like a coat stitched too tight or a shoe worn the wrong way. It rubbed against her soul in all the wrong places.
And so, the fire dimmed.
She didn't soar into projects or give impassioned speeches. She didn't become one of the dreamers or the builders. She faded into the ranks. A quiet staff member. A background figure.
Yenith had seen through it. Once, not long after she first arrived, he'd pulled her aside and said something she never forgot:
"You don't belong in the crowd, Lunari. There's something locked inside you. Something real. You just have to let it out."
She wanted to. Stars, she wanted to. But when she reached inside herself to find that spark, that old passion—she found silence.
No echo. No flame.
Just empty air where her energy used to be.
"Do you think they'll make it?" she asked suddenly, eyes still on Yenith.
Eliara followed her gaze, then smiled faintly. "If anyone can… they can."
Lunari didn't answer. She just watched as the launch crew prepared for departure, Yenith among them—shining with purpose like a star someone had remembered to light.
She wondered if he would ever know that he'd once been her favorite part of this place.
That he'd once made her think she could matter again.
But she'd lost that belief somewhere along the way—and didn't know how to ask for it back.