#prospect2018

The Benbow had never been so busy since the day it had been rebuilt, even with a ‘Reserved for Private Event’ sign out at the end of the drive, the shipping lane was overflowing with all manner of vessels drifting down from Cresentia since the sun came up. Compared to some of the frigates and man-o-wars, the Dawnbreaker almost looked like a toy floating next to her bigger siblings.

You didn’t get much of a chance to appreciate the sight of the beloved clipper getting some much-deserved rest as you were too busy with planning the festivities. The inn was decorated from top to bottom, live music was brought in, and extra food was ordered to be flown in fresh that day. It was going to be the biggest bash the old tavern had ever seen.

“Really, Til, I don’t need anything this extravagant!” Fiona argued affectionately, putting up a half-assed fight against being ushered through the doors. The moment she was spotted by the crowd of invitees a cheer went up so cacophonous she had to cover her ears.

“Nonsense! It’s your special day!” Tillie beamed, planting a big wet smooch on her girlfriend's feathery cheek. “Do you have any idea what it’s like sharing your birthday with three other siblings?! Didn’t think so! Speaking of, Matey you old dog! Long time no see!”

From across the room you managed a smile at Fiona before ducking back into the kitchen, loading up with more plates for all the guests. It made you proud that your own home was where Til had chosen to host the event, and you swallowed that sticky pride like you liked it; trying not to let it catch in your throat that you should be next to the guest of honor, not serving her. But you don’t mind, do you? Of course not. You’d even put on one of your nicer uniforms instead of just throwing an apron over the clothes you’d slept in the night before.

It felt good to be busy, or so you kept telling yourself.

Patrons smiled and thanked you every time you set their plates - though a little loudly, having to compete with the live music - and each one was more polite than the last. It was their captain’s birthday after all, and every immaculately-dressed officer, regardless of species, made you feel appreciated.

It was obvious with the way you waltzed through the crowds and doted on your customers that you loved being back home. Your older sister Sarah certainly appreciated the change in your attitude, though it was several months before she stopped berating you for returning home empty handed after going on such a legendary treasure-seeking adventure; but she was thrilled that you had finally ‘shaped up’.

Your hands she could see, but your empty eyes she chose to ignore.

Setting down two heaping bowls of high-end apollonian chowder, you skirted through the droves of people to fix one of the blue and gold streamers fluttering above the mantle, the shiny foil paper brushing longingly against the solarboard where the old relic had been collecting dust.

It’d been there since you hung it up before setting off on your grand adventure, the hexagonal energy pathways embedded in the neatly-folded sailcloth glittered morosely in the firelight every time you walked by, calling to you with gentle but desperate whispers.

You left it where it hung, aggressively avoiding eye contact with the photo of your grandfather whose eyes bored right into the hole where your spirit had once been. Sorry to disappoint you, Jimbo.

The moment you had the streamers hanging back where they belonged, one of the officers was politely asking for a refill on their porpwine, gracing you with a much-needed distraction. That’s all everything felt like these days, one distraction after another, but in truth, that’s all life really is, isn’t it?

You went back to the kitchen to get a fresh bottle of wine, though you distinctly remember refilling that particular specimen’s glass at least four times now. The wine was imported, needlessly expensive alcohol that had been recommended by somilers from here to the clouds of Magellan; and though it was quite tasty the damned cork always gave you such a ration of fucking crap. Bullshitery.

With the corkscrew as deep into the soft wood as it would go, you strained to pull it free. You were no weakling, these bottles just sucked ass and enjoyed making a fool out of you. Fuckin’ A. As you were struggling with the bootlever slipping constantly off the mouth of the bottle, your mind flashed back to the Dawnbreaker, to the galley, to halfway-decent grog paired with delicious home made sweets. Shit. To barrel chested laughs and deeply crinkled eyes. Damn it! To a particularly deft set of articulated fingers weedling the cork out of a bottleneck easier than an octopus escaping its tank. To those devious fingers doing the same to you.

“Fuck!”

The cork slipped loose with a mischievous pop, your distracted hands fumbling to catch the bottle as it slipped from your grip. You managed to snag it before it hit the floor, but not before it dumped half its bright purple contents all over the front of your blouse.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Your sister bellowed from over a simmering pot of bonzabeast that probably should have come off the fire hours ago. “That wine’s not cheap! And I just mopped the floor last night!”

“Sorry,” You croaked, reaching for a towel to at least pat yourself dry and sponge the spill off the floor. “I’ll be right back, I-I need to change.” You didn’t wait for Sarah to argue or retaliate as you hurried up the stairs that led to the residential part of the tavern, not seeing your sister's confusion at the fact that you just… apologized instead of tearing her a new asshole. Whatever space had done to you, she could certainly get used to.

You tracked plum droplets all the way up the wooden stairs and down the hall to your room, tugging wet clothing off as you went. At least you smelled pretty now, the fruity aroma masking some of the sweat and kitchen grime clinging to your sticky skin.

By the time you got to your room you were stripped down to your tanktop and underwear, but even those had managed to soak up a few purple stains of their own. You ambled towards your bed, trying to ignore the nagging devil in the back of your mind telling you to lay down in it and just forget the party downstairs. Not like you were having fun anyway.

The meager cabin had been your room since you were old enough to have one of your own, so it took you by surprise when you pulled your tank top over your head and managed to trip over something in the decades-familiar space.

“Yowch!! Mother fucking shit ball of god damn hell shit fuck!!!”

Had there not been a rip-roaring good time downstairs, your furious cursing probably would have summoned someone to your aide as you stomped about with your throbbing pinky toe, nearly shouting the heavens down in your fury.

Free of the offending article of clothing, you vehemently scanned the floor for what had attacked you, but found yourself unable to retaliate against the monster trying to crawl out from under your bed.

Or, at least what was left of him.

Ezra’s robotic arm, the only souvenir you still possessed that proved you’d even known him, had somehow managed to roll out from under your bed where you’d stashed it. Without the cyborg it’d been attached to, the hunk of metal was as lifeless and dull as you felt on the inside, and how it’d managed to get far enough out from under the bed was a mystery you weren’t sure if you wanted to solve. Probably the vibrations from the party downstairs. Probably not haunted…right?

You hadn’t seen it in a while, though the knowledge of it being right below where you laid your head at night frequently kept you awake, but not out of fear. It hurt your heart to see it without the man it was supposed to be on, flipping appliances in the blink of an eye to serve dinner or scrape barnacles or gently set a coat on your shoulders when you slept. You missed the slight hiss that it would make when he’d fiddle about the kitchen, or the faint creak of the wrist joint when he’d place a hot meal in front of you, the iron digits brushing gently across your back…

No, now that magnificent multitool was dead, just like the man who used to wield it.

Your tears had long dried for Ezra, even after keeping them bottled for months in the Etherium on the way back to Montressor lest your comrades find you weak - though of course they never would. As soon as you’d walked through the Benbow’s doors and into the befuddled glare of your sister, you’d finally let yourself cry.

They’d poured out of you, tears of grief and sadness and fury. Tears of loss and pain, not only of the treasure but also of life. Tears of exhaustion, desperation, every horrid, gut clenching, face-reddening, heart-breaking feeling ever known to the human psyche flowed down from your eyes that day like shooting stars heading for the ground where they would explode into a thousand thousand pieces, killing every lifeform that crawled at your feet like the malevolent goddess of pain and wrath that you were.

And then, after that, you never cried again.

Yet now, staring at the dull steel fingers, slightly splayed from tripping over them, you felt that same pull of heartache tugging on the corners of your eyes. For a moment you felt those old emotions again, the sadness, the grief, and the rage, and your throbbing pinky toe had to remind you that kicking it was a very bad idea.

Picking up the heavy chunk of metal, you set it down on your bed, smoothing it out from the release catch on the shoulder ball, to the coil-spring wrapped humerus strut, down to the massive, gear-laden forearm, and finally to the hand itself.

The arm was long, longer than your own, but it had been a perfect fit for Ezra. And a perfect fit around your shoulders, around your waist. Between your legs.

The dirtier thoughts you had drowned pretty quickly in the depressive riptides of your mind, sinking into the inky black of despair. For a moment you feared you might drown too, and so, as one who is sinking below the waves does, you reached for a hand to pull you from the dark.

Cold, lifeless fingers slotted perfectly between your own, the chilly metal prickling your skin with goosebumps, but you didn’t care. The longer you held it, the warmer it became, and soon the iron palm and steely digits were almost the same temperature as you were, almost like they were alive.

Almost, but not quite.

You sucked in a shuddering breath, composing yourself before pulling your grasp free and finding fresh clothes as you had set off to do before being so rudely tripped by the ghost of a mutineer. Dressed and presentable, you made to leave your bedroom, but paused in the doorway, looking back at the severed arm lying comfortably in your bed as if to call you into its embrace, and a thought came to you.

Ezra was always so good at getting corks out, perhaps he still can be.

The roar of Fiona’s birthday bash carried up the stairs like distant thunder before you cleared the hallway, even with all the doors and windows open to let in the pleasant summer evening. There was the briefest moment on Montressor when the rains came through and thoroughly soaked the dry, cracked soil; whipping it into thick, sticky mud that eventually bloomed with gazillions of wildflowers. Were it not for the crowd, you would have been able to hear the soft rustling of the new prairie grasses and the chirp of summer insects. Sometimes this old dirtball could be pretty. Sometimes.

For now all you could hear was the walls of the inn swelling with laughter and merriment, bad jokes and deep, barrel chested guffaws of some of the officers. Better open some more wine.

Clutched tightly to your chest, Ezra’s arm seemed to hug you from beyond the grave, the padded fingers almost caressing your shoulder. You started quickly down the hallway to the stairs, hoping you could dart into the kitchen to use it as a bottle opener before Fiona saw it. The four-eyed avian had distinctly told you to throw it overboard after spending a good afternoon and a half prying the damn thing from the Dawnbreaker’s hull, and you knew that the fact you’d disobeyed orders wouldn’t be the only cause for her fury upon its discovery.

As your foot hit the first step leading back down to the main dining room, you thought you heard your sister arguing with someone.

“Sir this is a private event, you need an invitation.”

“I don’t have an invitation, I’m uh, lookin’ for someone.”

That voice. You froze on the steps. Years of clambering up and down them had taught you where the creaky boards were, and where your feet would be silent. It’d been a devious trick you’d utilized as a child to sneak up on grandpa whenever he was home, which was rare for the admiral. But now that age-old trick had you hugging the stairwell wall where the boards were silent, holding your breath so you could be the same.

“What’s the name of the party you’re meeting here?”

“Erm… Hawkins?”

“Very funny, sir.”

“This is the Benbow is it not? On Montressor? I have braved enough of Kevva’s obstacles to locate this miserable planet in this nowhere sector and I must see Ms. Hawkins!”

“Sir I don’t know who you-”

“Not you, confound it! The other Hawkins!”

Can’t be…

The drawl of the man your sister was gatekeeping from the party grated like gravel in your ear, missing all the spoonful-of-sugar sweetness you once knew it to have, but it was unmistakable nonetheless. You held the mechanical arm up, waiting for the hand to muppet-mouth back at you and explain the source of the voice, but it only flopped limply against your chest with a faint creak.

You were almost to the bottom of the steps now, and once you made it to the landing you’d be able to see the main entrance.

You’d be able to see the ghost in the doorway.

-Creeaaak-

The final floorboard squealed loudly under your uncaring final step, drawing the attention of your sister and the stranger the moment you stepped off the stairs. Sarah spun on the noise, fixing you with a confused glare, but the stranger in the door looked like he had just seen the dawn for the first time after a month-long arctic night.

“...Starling?”

Silent as the grave you suspected he’d crawled out of, you crossed the distance to the man at the door slowly, wide-eyed and dry mouthed. He was thinner than the last time you’d seen him, face gaunt, coat ill-fitting with his right sleeve pinned closed, though he didn’t need two hands to gently push past your befuddled sister. His uneven steps thump-clacked towards you, a slight squeak in the ball-bearing of his ankle as he crossed the distance to meet you. Though you weren’t sure if he looked like what the cat dragged in, or the cat itself, his disheveled state was no match for the brightness of his eyes.

An enormous dark honeywell watched you unblinking with its golden-lit twin, the mechanical eye as radiant as the heavens as they both took you in. The stranger’s bristly lips were slightly parted, the rosey pink of them dull and faded but still begging to be kissed, and you knew this was no stranger, and certainly no ghost.

“Ezra?”

The cyborg let loose a shuddering breath, caught between a giggle and a gasp that curled his lips into a breathtaking grin. “Starling mine!” He beamed, reaching for you with his single arm, his gaze flicking from your starstruck face to the contraption you wielded. “And you’ve secured my primary weapon! Will wonders never cease?” His human hand brushed against your cheek and trailed down to the mechanical arm. “Please, affix that gadget to its rightful place so I may greet you properly, beautiful.”

Ezra stepped back and pulled the pins from his right shoulder sleeve, tilting his body down so you could slide the humerus strut into the mechanical socket. The moment the fasteners clicked into place, Ezra fell forward with the returned weight. “By Kevva! I’d forgotten how heavy this thing was!” He rolled his shoulders once, twice, getting a feel for the limb. Reunited with its owner, the cybernetic hissed and spewed dust from its vents, obscuring the foyer in a cloud of soot and steam that made the three of you cough.

“Sir, you need to take that.. that thing outside!” Sarah barked through the haze, “And take ~Ms. Hawkins~ with you!”

She didn’t need to tell you twice. You grabbed for Ezra and hauled him back outside before Fiona's officers could get a better look at the newest arrival, shoving past your sister much less gently than Ezra had on his way in. Sarah slammed the door behind you, and suddenly you were alone together on the Benbow’s front porch.

Between your fingers the sharp pinch of metal squeezed for your attention, drawing your eyes away from the tavern’s front door. Your hand - fingers intertwined with steely digits you thought long dead - were pulled until you were pulled with it, dragging you to face the ghost of your beloved scallywag.

And then his arms were around you.

One soft and warm, one hard and cold, both coiling around you like you were the lifeline cast to save a drowning man. Ezra’s scruffy chin burrowed between your neck and shoulder, his skin hot -almost feverish- against yours while he cradled the back of your head, pressing your face as tightly to his own as he could.

For a moment the shock kept you still, frozen as you had once believed his corpse to be. Could this really be happening? Is Ezra really-

“My Starling,” he whined against your skin, his breath hoarse with emotion. “I never thought I would lay eyes on you again, but knowing that I may see you one day again is what kept this old heart of mine still beating! The pod, Kevva be praised, was Terran built. Constructed to survive nigh anything, and though I was cast adrift in the fathomless Etherium, awaiting rescue I knew nought would come, I continued to draw breath in that miniscule pod so long as the hope of reuniting with you again kept the hypoxia at bay. Starling, gorgeous, wonderful, sublime Starling! I am so, so sorry…”

Sorry…?

“You…you should be.”

Ezra froze, fingers tightening against your skin. “I am sor-”

“You should be!!” you roared, tearing yourself from his embrace, the hot sting of tears welling up behind your eyes. “What the fuck are you even doing here?! Captain Fiona is here, and if she sees you she’ll have you drawn and quartered, and truthfully I’m half tempted to think that’s what you deserve!”

Ezra said nothing, though the muscle in his jaw ticked a bit. His huge, puppy-dog eye struggled to meet yours, but he knew he had to accept his lashings.

“What was your plan, Ez, once you got the aurelac and the map? Were you going to kill us? Leave us abandoned on Bakhroma, or just turn us over to your crew?”

“I-”

“Shut up! You’ve got a lot of nerve showing back up here after what you did! Fuck, Ezra! I… I watched you die! Why didn’t you just stay dead?!” Every bottled up emotion poured from your bloodshot eyes, the taste of salt pulling your lips back into a snarl. “Why didn’t you just take your damn aurelac and go?!”

You wanted to punch him, slap him, bite him, anything, but all you could do was stand there, your fists clenched so hard you could feel your nails puncture your palms, arms quaking with rage and sorrow and grief. It was too much at once; the party raging behind the tavern's door, the world-weary weight on your shoulders, the explosion of emotions erupting from your hate-rended heart. You wanted to scream and cry and combust into a column of flame, burn everything around you to ash, make the world look the way you felt on the inside, and take the ghost of journeys past with you to the grave.

It was a surprise, to say the least, when Ezra breached the short distance to you with his still-human hand, the one kept warm by a still-beating heart. A heart that beat solely for you. Rough, calloused fingers alighted feather-lightly on your cheek, the shock of contact suppressing your urge to bite them clean off.

"My sweet celestial beauty, my furiously burning star, whose glory and rage I am not fit to look upon." He whispered in reverence, letting his fingertips coast up your jaw until his whole hand cupped your cheek. "My journey across the stars drove me to seek the most elusive of treasures, and I thought I had found it on that forlorn little moon, lost to time at the bottom of a caldera where it belonged. I followed in the footsteps of many a spacer, surely to my death, and I would have met it, too, had I adhered to the trail already blazed. But the aurelac was a fool's errand, a trick, a trap. Though it certainly would have made me rich beyond my wildest fantasies, my soul would have been left destitute had I not perceived the real treasure hiding in plain sight. It wasn’t until I fell into the darkness that I realized my solisequious endeavor had already been fulfilled"

His cybernetic eye flickered, unable to produce its own tears, but his ageless left eye was already misting over. His other hand -the metal cold in the Montressan night air- joined its twin to cradle your face. You reached up to grab his wrists, torn between wanting to rip them from your face, or crumple into his strong arms. You picked the middle ground, standing there, shaking as the tears fell, only for them to be wiped away by the gentle caress of his thumbs.

“Do you know what that word means? Solisequious?” he asked gently, a smile quirking his lips when you shook your head almost imperceptibly. "It's old, old Terran. It means 'to follow the sun'. A guiding star." He peppered your cheek with kisses, following the line of your cheekbone to your lips, kissing you slowly when he reached them. "A shining light, to save me from the darkness. And it wasn’t until I was swallowed by the dark that I realized I had forsaken the light."

He couldn’t stop kissing you, each press of his lips slow with devotion, even though you were fighting to keep from collapsing into a blubbering mess. Finally, he pressed his forehead to yours, sticky with sweat and grime, and took a deep breath to collect himself before confessing:

"It's you, little bird. You are the light of my life."

You heaved with an ugly sob, your face contorting grossly as the last of your resolve disintegrated into stardust. He pulled you forward, pressing his lips to yours in a desperate, world-erasing kiss. He didn't care that you were still crying, or that he was starting to cry as well, and you didn't care either. It was like nothing else existed in the entire universe but the two of you. His lips pressed against yours, quivering slightly as he fought to rein his emotions in, but to have you in his arms -something he thought he would never experience again- shook him to his very core.

You weren't ready to speak, but you did sway gently with him, a slow, comforting rock, letting the muffled sound of the band inside give rhythm to your dance. He took your hand in his, entwining his metal digits between your fingers just like you had done when the prosthetic was still severed from his body; but with Ezra at the controls again, they felt just as alive as if he had been born with it. The arm still made of meat and bone glided down your side to rest on your hip, and you let him lead you in a long overdue waltz.

The moonlight of Crescentia was the only witness to the pair of you, the icy white light cutting through the velvet summer-dark to frame you in its spotlight. Hushed evening breezes whispered through the prairie grass, stirring luminous insects from their nests, spilling lights into the sky like so many awakened stars. They rose in a glittering cloud around the Benbow, casting the old tavern in living starlight.

A beautiful scene straight out of a fairy tale went unnoticed by the pair of oblivious dancers, their tear-clouded eyes too full of each other to witness the stars join them in their reunion.Over the muted tune of the tavern music, the faint creak and squeak of Ezra’s rusted joints punctuated each graceless step, but neither of you could care. Regardless of his prosthetics, your beloved space pirate waltzed with you across the boardwalk, past the wide-open windows and in full view of anyone who was still sober.

You spun, hand in hand, past the windows towards the garden adjacent to the Inn. The summer roses were in full bloom, their fragrance sweet and sincere; warm against the crisp scent of citrus flowers blossoming in the orchard. Underfoot, the stone pathway went thud-thud-thud-clack in time with your steps, Ezra’s peg scraping slightly with each turn.

His human hand splayed against your lower back, bending you towards him as he dipped you down low, supporting your weights on an old creaky leg. The broad hook of his nose brushed yours gently, teasing a kiss, but denying you the pleasure of his lips before he brought you back up. Then, with your fingers still locked between his irons, he twirled you gently, softly, like if he spun you too fast you would rocket away into space. Once, twice, three times…

And then he let go, letting you spin yourself across the plaza. Had you been wearing anything even remotely nicer than your waitress uniform, your skirts would have flared wide and beautifully, enchanting any who witnessed. Your eyes landed on the tavern windows, on the wild party inside, catching the briefest flash of white feathers.

-creak- SNAP!- “Kevva damn it all…!”

An ugly noise behind you stole your gaze back to your dancing partner of the evening, but he was no longer at eye level to you. Instead he was halfway to the floor, his bone-and-sinew knee bent all the way to the ground, but his right peg-leg was stuck crookedly out in front of him.

“Ezra, are you ok? Did you fall?” You asked, rushing back to him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” He deflected, holding his palms up in defense. “This leg has been in dire need of maintenance, but I was hoping it would last me just a moment longer…” He whacked himself in the knee a few times until the stiff joint gave, letting him down all the way into a kneel, and you felt your guts drop down to the floor with him.

“What’re you doing, Ez?”

“What I’m hoping will be the first of many proper apologies. Starling,” he pleaded, reaching into the pocket of his oversized overcoat. “There was a time in my life when the thought of doing anything for anyone other than myself would have disgusted me, but now I can imagine nothing else but pledging my heart and soul to the light of my life.” He pulled his hand from his pocket, producing something wrapped in a scrap of sailcloth. “After my vessel was scooped up by a scrapper, I managed to pry this off of the hull.”

Carefully he undid the little handkerchief, revealing his prize to the night. In his palm sat a familiar hunk of meat, the exterior shell still intact and covered in a thin coat of moss.

“Aurelac? Living aurelac?” You took the living fossil from him carefully, turning it over with your pinkie. It wasn’t much bigger than an egg, and you knew nothing about how they grew or produced their gems, but one little seedling would be all it might take to bring the species back from the edge of extinction. “Why.. why are you giving this to me?”

“Because I have nothing else to give, my starling, except my undying love for you.” He shuffled a bit on his knee, straightening his back and pulling his hat from his head. Moonlight spilled down the blond streak in his ruffled hair, and you remember it once being stained red with his own blood from a wound you had given him. It had healed nicely, though the scars that spiderwebbed out from his optic were still a faint rosey pink. He knew you were staring, but he met your eyes with his own, never breaking away as he said “It is all I have to ask for your hand with. Could…could you ever f-forgive me, my starling, and be … my starling… mine?"

“Ezra..!”

“MISTER GREEN!!”

Before you could say yes or no or what the fuck, an ear-shattering screech tore the night apart from the Benbow’s open windows. Immediately you saw four onyx black eyes glaring at you from the walkway that wrapped around the tavern, contrasting sharply against the raised white feathers of one very angry bird.

Fiona.

“Get that fucking pirate, now! NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW!!” The captain bellowed to her officers, though almost her entire company was sloshed from the abundance of wine. A multitude of drunken footsteps clambered down the steps towards you and Ezra, followed by the creak of him springing to his feet.

“I believe I’ve overstayed my welcome, dear heart, and though I would be most inclined to know your answ-”

“Yes!”

“Yes?!”

“Yes! Now shut up and run!” You grabbed his hand and hauled him along behind you, the creaky ‘borg stumbling and tripping as you dragged him towards the driveway that led to the shipping lane. Brightly lit vessels bobbed where they were docked in the waterless canyon, floating serenely and indifferent to the sudden outburst of chaos that seemed almost routine coming from the Benbow Inn. Between the prestigious galleons and graceful clippers you spotted the ugliest, most brokeass lookin sloop you’d ever seen in all your days, and headed straight for it.

“How.. could… you… tell… huff… that-”

“Because!” you panted back at the winded pirate as you jumped aboard the rickety little starhopper. “Looks just like you!”

“Ah.” Ezra followed suit quickly, turning the ignition over with a BANG! Smoke poured out the aft jets like rolling thunder, sputtering thick and black as the tiny ship chugged to life. “Hang on, Starling!” he bellowed over the roar of the engine, his face illuminated no longer by the moon, but by sparks erupting from behind, painting him in the coveted gold that had brought him to you in the first place.

Without the sun to fuel the sails you were blasting off on reserves alone, clunky and unwieldy but enough to get you out of the docks and quickly put distance between you and Fiona’s officers. The ships fell away just like they had the first time you had set off from Crescentia Station, the Dawnbreaker bobbing slightly next to her siblings in your wake. You could see Fiona, Sarah, and Til, along with the group of inebriated officers watch as you flew off into the night.

The Benbow, it’s windows all lit and twinkling where it sat on the cliffside, seemed to watch you as well, but perhaps with less judgement than the rest of your family. It’d seen Hawkins’ come and go for generations, and knew no matter how far-flung their adventures took them, they would always return home one day; perhaps when a certain Avian had calmed down a bit.

But tonight, tonight the stars are calling you, their celestial voices heard in the southern twang of a scrappy old spacer, in the roar of a junky little starship held together with duct tape and bubblegum, in the howl of the summer night air whipping through your hair. You could feel them, too, underfoot in the way the ship threatened to fall apart before it broke the atmosphere, in the wind rushing around you, in the warmth coming from the hand with its fingers threaded through yours.

You glanced over at Ezra, the light of Crescentia ahead and the burn of your jets behind illuminating him against the backdrop of the Montressan night sky. His gorgeous profile turned to you, the wild glint in his eye bright as his smile, and you knew he could hear the siren song of the Etherium calling his name, too.

And when the stars call, you are destined to answer.

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