Tanya's amethyst eyes snapped open, the sharpness of her gaze cutting through the dim light that filtered into the room. Her breath was steady, measured, though her heart pulsed with the quiet anticipation that had settled into her bones over the past few days. It was the day of the trial, after all. The culmination of all her planning, all her meticulous maneuvering, all the countless variables she had accounted for. Now, the pieces would have to fall into place on their own.

Or not.

She exhaled slowly, her chest rising and falling in a controlled rhythm as she rolled onto her side. Nothing was ever certain. No matter how much effort one poured into strategy, no matter how carefully one arranged the board, some pieces would always refuse to move as expected. But preparation… preparation was everything. Proper preparation prevented poor performance.

She had repeated that phrase to herself more times than she could count, a mantra ingrained into her mind from long nights spent poring over books and theories in her university years. Knowledge, after all, was power. And power was meant to be wielded with precision.

She stretched her limbs, feeling the stiffness in her joints melt away as she turned onto her other side. The bed was warm, the lingering heat beside her a telltale sign of the usual presence that should have been there. But as her gaze flicked to the empty space beside her, she frowned slightly. Odd.

He was gone.

Her younger sibling was nowhere to be seen, the imprint of his body still faintly visible on the sheets. Normally, he was the one who clung to the comfort of sleep, stubbornly curling himself against her warmth, refusing to rise and face the day. It was an oddly endearing habit, one she had grown used to over time. And yet, today of all days, he was absent.

Tanya swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet touching the cool floor as she stood. Her muscles were fluid, her body moving with the ease of someone who had long trained themselves to be ready at a moment's notice. Without thinking, she strode toward the window, drawn by the nagging sense that something was amiss.

The sky outside was still tinged with the soft hues of dawn, the world bathed in the quiet stillness that preceded the chaos of the day. Her sharp gaze swept across the landscape, seeking the familiar figure she expected to see.

And there, sitting on the ground beneath the cool morning light, were two figures.

One of them was unmistakable—his tail swayed behind him in that familiar, absentminded motion he often had when he was lost in thought. A habit so distinctly him that it softened the edge of her worry, if only slightly.

The other figure, smaller and unmistakably delicate even from this distance, was the girl. The Sol child. Luna's sister.

Tanya's ears twitched, her curiosity piqued.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, amethyst depths gleaming as she observed the quiet moment between them. It was… unusual. He was not one to willingly engage with others in the morning, nor was he someone who entertained company outside of necessity. Well at least usually.

And yet, there they were.

Sitting together in the dim glow of morning, their forms a contrast of shadow and light against the world that had yet to fully awaken.

Tanya tilted her head slightly, the weight of the moment settling over her. Her ears twitched in curiosity as she listened in despite herself.

"I don't know… it feels like everything is just a mess right now."

Sol's voice was quieter than usual, thin and fraying at the edges as though it might dissolve into the air if she spoke any softer. Her small hands trembled slightly as they clutched at the necklace hanging from her throat, her fingers tightening around the sun necklace which mirrored lunas as if it were the only thing tethering her to the present. The dim light of morning caught on its surface, glinting faintly against her pale skin.

"My mom… my sister…" She exhaled, her voice barely more than a whisper, a thread of sound nearly lost to the quiet of dawn. "Will she be okay? Will she even be alive?"

Tarak, who had been gazing toward the horizon, turned his head slightly, the faint glow of the seven suns at dawn catching his horns and casting subtle shadows across his face. His crimson eyes, sharp and thoughtful, flickered toward her. He did not rush to answer. He let the words settle between them, sinking into the cool morning air like pebbles into still water.

Finally, he spoke.

"Midea is… a lot," Tarak said evenly, his tone carrying the weight of an unspoken complexity. "But he can save her. He has that capability."

Sol's grip on her necklace tightened even further, her shoulders hunching inward as though trying to shield herself from something unseen. She sucked in a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling unevenly. Then, all at once, the restraint cracked.

"But will she even be her anymore?!" Her voice burst forth, raw and tangled with anguish, her hands curling into trembling fists at her sides. "You don't get it! I was supposed to take care of her! She was the only one who ever—" Her breath hitched, her words faltering for a brief moment before she pressed forward, her emotions spilling out like floodwaters breaking through a dam.

"I was never taken care of, Tarak. My sister—she was my star. And she almost died! And I could do nothing at all! I never can! Maybe…" She swallowed hard, her voice catching as something bitter rose in her throat. "Maybe my mom was right after all…"

Her voice dwindled into a hushed murmur at the end, the fire in her words flickering out as quickly as it had ignited, leaving behind only the smoldering embers of doubt.

Tarak was silent, his expression unreadable, but Tanya—watching from her vantage point—sensed something shift in him. She had never seen him look at anyone like that before. There was something distant in his gaze, something searching, as though he was looking past Sol and into something only he could see.

"I remember," he said at last, his voice steady, his tone unreadable, "you once told me you wanted to go out into the world. To explore. To move beyond what is here."

Sol blinked, startled by the abrupt change in topic, but Tarak didn't stop.

"You wanted to change," he continued, his words calm, deliberate. "Rather… you wanted change."

He reached out his hand, palm up, his dark claws catching the dim light as he extended it toward her. The glow of the seven suns stretched across his skin, creating shifting shadows that danced along his fingers. Sol hesitated, her wide, downtrodden eyes flickering between his outstretched hand and his face.

"Rain is colorless and clear," he said, his voice quiet but certain. "But shine light through it… and it takes on color."

He turned his palm slightly, his sharp claws glinting as if mirroring the way light refracted through water. His slit crimson eyes, still focused on something distant, took on an almost reflective quality, their depths unreadable shallow and yet oddly deep as well.

"No, more than that," he murmured, his gaze sharpening slightly. "The light may change color, reflecting each of the seven suns. It may turn into mist. It may become part of a puddle or it may drain into the earth. But in the end…" He let his hand drop slightly, letting the weight of his words carry their own gravity. "It goes from colorless to changing. And it changes other things."

He inhaled, the breath slow and deliberate before his gaze finally settled fully on her.

"Are people so dissimilar?" he asked, his voice softer now. "She is your sister. As long as you love her and she loves you, that bond will remain—no matter how she changes."

Sol's breath hitched, and she felt the weight of those words settle over her, heavy but strangely grounding.

"That's how it is for me and Surya," he continued, his voice still even, still firm. "Don't think too much. Don't look down. You wanted to be a caretaker, right?" He tilted his head slightly, and for the first time, there was something just a touch warmer in his expression. "Then take care of yourself first."

For a long moment, Sol just stared at him, her fingers still wrapped around her necklace, her lips parted slightly as though she wanted to say something but couldn't quite find the words. The silence stretched between them, thick and weighted, but not uncomfortable. She began to gether her thoughts.

And Tanya, watching from the window, found herself pressing her lips together, her own thoughts momentarily lost in the stillness of the scene before her.

The girl's wide, dark black eyes blinked rapidly, as though she were still processing everything that had just unfolded. A moment passed, then another, before she exhaled sharply, her lips parting with a stunned whisper.

"I've never heard you talk that much at once. Wow."

Tarak's only response was a slow, almost imperceptible blink, his expression unreadable.

Tanya, still watching from her place at the window, narrowed her amethyst eyes slightly, an amused yet slightly miffed sensation settling in her chest. Oh? So he could speak at length when he wanted to. The realization was mildly vexing. For all the times she had tried to pull more than a few clipped sentences from him, this girl had effortlessly coaxed an entire speech.

Sol, however, didn't dwell on the novelty of Tarak's words for long. Her fingers twitched around the necklace at her throat, and her shoulders lifted in a shallow breath. The small rise and fall of her frame betrayed the war within her—hesitation clashing against something deeper, something raw and unspoken.

"You're right," she said at last, her voice quiet but steady. "Things and people do change. But sometimes…" She hesitated, gripping the necklace so tightly her knuckles turned bone-white. "Sometimes they change for the better. And sometimes… they change for the worse."

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She swallowed, her throat bobbing visibly, as if forcing the words past some invisible barrier.

"And you can never know which." Her voice barely carried in the air, but it still trembled slightly. "And it's scary. It always is. At least that's what the grown-ups say."

A deep, uneasy breath. Then, her next words came in a near whisper, as if voicing them aloud made them all the more real.

"And I—I'm scared, Tarak."

The confession felt like breaking something open. Her fingers curled tighter, her entire posture tense as though she regretted admitting it the moment it left her lips. Her voice cracked—just a tiny fissure in her tone—but the weight of it was unmistakable.

Her shoulders hunched, her head tilting down slightly, her bangs casting faint shadows across her features.

"I don't want to be, but I am." Her breath was uneven, each syllable carrying the weight of something she had likely never allowed herself to say before. "But you're right. I wanted change, and I got it. And maybe this is… a path."

The uncertainty in her words flickered, like a flame wavering against the wind.

She exhaled, then inhaled again, as if trying to collect herself, to realign the pieces of herself that had been shaken loose. And then, after a long pause, she spoke again, quieter than before.

"But for now… I just want to remember my eternities."

Tarak's gaze flickered at that, a light flashing across his crimson eyes. There was a shift in his posture—so small most would have missed it—but Tanya caught it immediately. His tail twitched ever so slightly, his claws flexing before his fingers curled back into a loose position against his knee. It was movement Tanya recognized. The sign of genuine curiosity.

"Your eternities?" he asked, the words careful, as though testing their weight in the air. Curious but unwilling to ignore her feeling. Surprisingly conscious for her sibling,

Instead of answering right away, Sol's head turned sharply toward him at the sound of his voice, as if startled by how quickly he had latched onto her words. Her abyssal gaze met his own, an unspoken exchange lingering between them in the pause that followed. And then, as though something in his presence steadied her, she exhaled, her shoulders loosening slightly.

She shifted, scooting just a little closer toward him. A small motion. An instinctive one. Tarak didn't move away. If anything, he closed the space between them further, his casual grasp settling over her wrist. His grip was light—not possessive, not demanding, just… there.

Sol glanced down at his hand, her expression unreadable. Then she scooted closer again, the edges of their frames barely brushing against one another.

"Yes."

She lifted her free hand, curling her fingers in the air as though trying to grasp something unseen.

"I'm supposed to teach you, not the other way around," she said, the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of her lips—small, but genuine, even if tinged with lingering sorrow. "So let me tell you this."

She turned her head, her golden eyes locking onto his once more, something ancient and resolute swirling in their depths.

"Nothing that we do is really erased."

The words carried an odd finality to them, as though she were stating a law of existence itself rather than just an opinion.

"Everything we do, no matter how small… it matters."

She turned her palm up, as though offering something invisible to the sky.

"This moment, right here?" She gestured vaguely between them. "It exists. And nothing can ever change that. Nothing can rewrite it. Nothing can erase it. Not time, not fate, not even death."

Her voice had steadied now, taking on the quiet assurance of someone who had thought about these things for far too long.

"And because of that…" She exhaled softly, lowering her hand. "This moment will last forever. This—this pleasantness, this quiet—will never alter. It will never change. It is an eternity."

The silence that followed was thick, not in an oppressive way but in a way that made the air feel heavy with meaning.

Tanya, still observing from the window, felt something tighten in her chest at the words. She was gone now. But did the eternity of Tanya von Degurechaff remain? The eternity of the past never dissapears. It matters. Is there an unchanged version of me? Or at least what she was still associating as herself. She wondered.

But outside of hearself tanya realized Sol wasn't just saying them for Tarak. She was saying them for herself.

She was reminding herself that there was permanence in fleeting things. That even as life moved forward, even as change swallowed everything in its path, some things would remain. In memory. In feeling. In something beyond words. Perhaps in time itself.

She lowered her gaze, clutching her necklace once again.

"I find you have to value them," she murmured, voice softer now, but no less sure. "Because just like my dad…"

Her breath hitched slightly.

"…Well, you never really know how many will remain after you're gone, right?"

The words hung there, raw and unguarded.

She swallowed, her throat bobbing as she tried to blink away the heat in her eyes.

"There were so many I had with Luna." Her voice barely carried, the words like a whisper lost in the shifting light of dawn. "So many I want to have with her. And you."

Her fingers curled tighter around the pendant at her throat.

"So many…"

Her voice trailed off, the sentence unfinished, yet whole in its incompletion.

"Then we should go."

Tarak's voice was firm, direct, leaving no room for hesitation. His words cut through the morning air with the finality of a decision already made, as though his mind had settled on something long before speaking it aloud.

"Huh?" Sol turned sharply, her dark eyes widening in surprise at the suddenness of his statement. The shift in tone caught her off guard. A second ago, they had been lost in the weight of their conversation, the kind that left echoes in the soul. And now, just like that, he was moving forward again.

He met her gaze without a trace of uncertainty.

"In the end, I have no intention of dying."

The words were spoken simply, devoid of bravado, as though they were the most natural thing in the world.

"I don't need to value every moment," he continued. His slit crimson eyes gleamed faintly under the shifting light of the rising suns. "I'll have a lot."

That got her.

Sol blinked, then let out a startled laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep in her chest. "Hehahaha! So you want to be an immortal then? Just like that?"

Her voice carried something between amusement and incredulity, though there was no real mockery in it. If anything, she seemed entertained by his absolute certainty, the sheer Tarak-ness of his response.

"Well," she added, a teasing lilt creeping into her tone, "what about little old me and my memories, huh? What happens to me when you go living forever?"

Tarak tilted his head slightly, his expression unchanging. "You won't need moments either."

Sol blinked.

"You said we were partners, right?" Tarak continued, his voice calm, as if explaining something incredibly simple. "You wanted to go out together, right?"

Sol's lips parted slightly, but she hesitated, something about his words leaving her momentarily speechless.

He looked at her expectantly, as though waiting for her to confirm something obvious.

She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head with a wry chuckle. "Doesn't mean I'll live forever, ya know."

Tarak furrowed his brows slightly, as though the idea itself was perplexing.

"You will."

His words were firm, resolute.

His crimson gaze remained locked on her, unwavering.

"I'll force you to."

The statement was delivered so casually that for a moment, Sol wasn't sure she had heard him right.

She stared at him, stunned.

Then, without warning, another laugh burst from her lips—louder this time, filled with an almost disbelieving joy. She threw her head back, her body shaking slightly from the force of it. Her laughter rolled through the air, unrestrained, breaking the quiet morning stillness like waves crashing upon a shore.

It was different from before. Not the bitter laughter of someone trying to mask pain, but the kind that came from something so deeply ridiculous yet undeniably touching that she couldn't hold it in.

She wiped at her eyes, snorting as she grinned. "Did Midea teach you to talk like this?"

Tarak blinked. "No, this is just me."

His response was simple, straightforward, and so unapologetically himself that it sent her into another fit of giggles.

She shook her head, amused beyond words, before letting her weight slump against him. Without hesitation, she plopped her head onto his chest, letting out a small sigh as she nestled against him comfortably.

Her brother didn't react much, other than allowing it.

The warmth of the moment settled between them, an unspoken understanding woven into the quiet that followed.

Sol's voice was softer now, lacking its usual teasing edge.

"Well then… I hope that's the case." She inhaled, exhaling in a slow, almost wistful breath. "For a long, long time."

Tarak didn't hesitate.

"For forever."

Sol paused, then smiled against him, her fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his shirt.

"Yes." Her voice was almost a whisper, but it carried weight. "Forever. Hehe."

Tanya's mouth quirked at the scene. This was a bit much for kids no?