Fiona steps across the threshold, and time bends around her. The air thickens with nostalgia, enveloping her like a well-worn shawl. The mall—once bustling, now forgotten—clings to its secrets. Its walls, painted in faded pastels, bear the patina of countless footsteps. The floor tiles—cracked and chipped—click under her worn sneakers, a morse code of memories.
The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sepia glow. These aren't the sleek, energy-efficient LEDs of her modern world; they're relics, flickering like old souls reluctant to fade. Their light dances with dust motes, conjuring ghosts of shoppers long gone. The people here—middle class, low class—move with purpose. Their clothes—frayed at the edges, stitched with resilience—tell stories of survival. They don't rush; they meander. The stores—each a time capsule—don't discriminate. The shopkeepers—gray-haired and kind—greet everyone as dear clients. Their smiles—wrinkled maps of empathy—know no hierarchy. Money, here, is a mere transaction—a bridge between need and sustenance.
The group surrounds her—the corpulent guy, Sagar, Ho-Jin, and Sky. They guide her through the aisles, past storefronts frozen in time. The old computers—flat monitors, clunky keyboards—blink like ancient sentinels. Their screens display pixelated advertisements for products that no longer exist, obsolete relics. Fiona's fingertips brush the glass. It's cool, indifferent—a relic of a bygone era.
They lead her to the food plaza—a sanctuary of sustenance. The tables—plain wood, scarred by countless elbows—stand like old friends. No sleek surfaces here; just honest wear. The group settles, and Fiona sinks into her chair. The texture of the walls—rough, like memories etched in stone—wraps around her. The wood of the table—its grain a secret code—holds her palms. There's no judgment here—only acceptance. The fountain—its water murmuring ancient lullabies—breaks every so often, as if catching its breath. The smells from the stalls—fried dough, simmering spices, roasted coffee—swirl like incantations. They evoke hearths, cozy kitchens, and shared meals. There are no chemicals here—just sustenance, unadulterated.
In this forgotten mall, Fiona finds solace—its warmth a balm for her fractured soul. The corpulent guy forces a smile, Sagar leans back, and Ho-Jin—his gaze a constellation—just listens. Sky, the cosmic warrior, watches them from his seat. He knows that sometimes, salvation lies not in sleek futures but in the embrace of worn wood, the taste of simple food, in the absence of judgment.
As the fountain breaks again, she closes her eyes, listening to its ancient song.
Sky stands, the fluorescent lights casting a halo around him. His smile—a practiced curve—almost reaches his eyes, but they remain distant, like stars glimpsed through fog. He skips toward the stalls, taking menus in hand, choreographing a dance of delight. Fiona watches—the group watches. They see the facade—the unbreakable mask he wears. It's a performance—an artful illusion spun to keep them at bay. But they know better. They've glimpsed the cracks—the chinks in his armor.
"Fiona," the corpulent guy says, his voice a rumble of respect. "I'm Barkhad Qaran Amin, but you can call me Amin. You wonder why we follow him" he nods toward their skipping friend "because he carries burdens we can't fathom. His pain—like a hidden star collapsing—is infinite. But he shields us from it. His orders—they're not just thoughtful; they're selfless. He thinks of our safety before his own. Sacrifice? He'd offer himself first, without hesitation."
"But why?" she asks, her voice a fragile thread. "Why carry such weight?"
"Because," Sagar says, leaning in, "his ego is nonexistent. He doesn't seek recognition or glory. His virtues—forgotten by most—are his armor. When egos battle, his personality shines. He's the quiet hero—the one who steps into the fire while others flee." Fiona remembered those nights they enjoyed playing video games. He did the same there. His laughter—the soundtrack to their battles—masked the ache. He'd sacrifice his score, his sleep, his sanity. And now, in this forgotten place, he'll sacrifice more.
The group sits—Fiona, Amin, Sagar, and Ho-Jin. They watch their skipping friend return, menus in hand. His mask remains intact, but they glimpse the universe behind it—the pain, the solitude. They'll follow him, not because he demands it, not because he needs them, but because his strength—veiled and unyielding—guides them through cosmic wars and their own battles alike.
The menus—dog-eared and stained—land on the table like revered manuscripts. Fiona's gaze flits across the offerings, each dish a portal to flavor, to sustenance. Sky stands there, his smile a mask. He's honest about his lack of funds; it's not him paying tonight. His uncle—an unseen benefactor—extends a hand across time and space, bridging the gap between scarcity and generosity.
Fiona feels undeserving. She hides her hands below the table, fingers curling into knots. Amin orders rice seasoned with oil and memories of Somalia—he leans back, his eyes kind. Sagar—the bearer of Nepal's dal bhat tradition—sits straighter, his gaze steady. Ho-Jin—seeking spice to match his hidden fire—leans in, studying the menu as if deciphering ancient runes.
But Fiona—her stomach a traitor—feels uncomfortable. She wants to eat, to share this meal with them, to taste belonging. Her eyes cloud, but she won't cry. Tears reside in the lower corners, unshed. And then Sky speaks. His words—a riddle wrapped in kindness—take her by surprise: "Would you accompany us to be alone?"
How can they be alone while being together? The question hangs like a moonbeam in the dimness. But his smile—genuine despite the pain he hides—invites her. She trembles, her voice a fragile thread: "A plain salad, please." Her eyes—unconscious traitors—dart to the steak section of the menu. She knows her friend will walk away with the menus once again, but his skipping—sincere despite the facade—beckons her to order.
In this veiled benevolence, they sit—a group of misfits, bound by circumstance and shared solitude. Sky's invitation, wrapped in kindness and paradox, lingers in the air, drawing them closer despite the distances they all carry within.
Fiona sits among them, her heart a fragile thing. Amin—the one who ordered rice seasoned with memories—leans forward, his eyes pools of shared sorrow. His story spills forth: "I once had a friend, the epitome of a police officer—lost in a car accident." Amin feels like a fraud living in the shadow of his friend's greatness. Now, he wears a uniform, just like his friend once did, to uphold justice and honor his memory. He misses his friend—the one who believed in dreams when they were kids. Now, he lives to make him proud—a silent promise etched into every duty fulfilled.
Sagar places a picture on the table. His trembling hands—calloused from saving lives—hold a world lost. His wife—a beacon of warmth—and their son—a reflection of hope—stare back. He doesn't speak; his words are kidnapped by the weight of their absence. The photograph—a portal to love extinguished—anchors him. He breathes, but his nourishment is memory.
Ho-Jin—the one who left family behind—reveals his own exile. "I was once a teacher in North Korea, both government and family forced me into seclusion." A teacher in the mountains, he carries the ache of being unwanted. His family—the severed thread—still tugs at his soul. "I miss them—yes, the ones who turned me away, branded me a loser." His spice-laden order will mask the bitterness.
Fiona, her eyes clouded, listens. Their stories weave a tapestry of shared loss. They all come from the 20th century—a time when futures were unwritten, and their loved ones were tangible. Now, they mourn—deeply, silently. Their pain—like a forgotten, distorted melody—fills the air. And she—still tethered to her daughter—feels undeserving. Her introspection swirls—a tempest of gratitude and guilt.
Sky's invitation—"accompany us to be alone"—hangs between them. She understands now. While they carry memories like stones, she still has a chance. Her daughter—the bridge unburned—waits. The gap between them—that cosmic chasm—narrows. She reaches for her broken phone, her fingers brushing the edge of possibility.
And now, in the dimness of the forgotten mall, they sit—a fellowship of fractured souls. Their pain—shared, unspoken—binds them. Fiona—caught between gratitude and longing—mourns Bairon and Jose. The food will come, but the feast will be a transcendent trail of memories.
Amin—the one whose laughter could shake mountains—places his massive hand on Sagar's shoulder. His touch—a silent benediction—transmits strength. But Sagar's shoulders—mighty from lifting lives—tremble. These powerful men—forged in a time when psychologists were a luxury—aren't afraid to show their feelings. They've always found ways to deal with the intensity—the weight of memories.
Ho-Jin—the one whose grace could make stars envious—joins them. His fingers—delicate as moonlight—rest on the other shoulder. Sagar bears their touch. He's not alone. Their hands—unrelated by blood yet connected by an invisible thread—speak of eternal brotherhood. They mourn—deeply, in silence. Their vulnerability—a rare currency—passes between them. These men—whose muscles could move mountains—now carry memories heavier than the world itself.
The smells of food weave through the air—the promise of sustenance. The hidden sobs—the ones they swallow—echo in their chests. Amin's breath hitches; Ho-Jin's eyes glisten. They support each other—their strength multiplied by shared pain. Sagar—his mighty shoulders like Atlas's burden—feels the weight of lost worlds. And Fiona—witness to this sacred communion—understands. Her pain—once unique, once isolating—is now a common thread. She's not special because she sits among them; she's special because they mourn together.
In the distance, Sky—that cosmic warrior—takes orders. Beside him stands a man who looks divine—an uncle dressed in expensive clothes, behaving like a prince. Disguised as a human, he caresses her friend's head—it feels like a celestial touch even in the distance. Ho-Jin pales in comparison. But Sky—the child in the presence of this angel—revels. And Fiona smiles. There's still a chance. While she and her daughter breathe, bridges can be built, even if they span light-years. Maybe these men—these mourners, these Stars of Destiny—will help her cross the chasm of her loss.
And so, in the dim-lit food plaza, they sit—a fellowship of shared sorrow. The smells of food promise solace, and the hidden sobs—like distant thunder—remind them they're alive. Their muscles tremble, but their hearts beat strongly on.
Fiona watches as Sky—that celestial warrior—balances a bounty of steaming plates. His smile—a fragile bridge between worlds—doesn't reach his eyes. Those eyes—deep pools of emotion—hold secrets. She can't decipher them, but she senses their weight. He places the plates down—a little ritual unfolding. Each dish—a mosaic of sustenance—holds more than food; it cradles memory.
With reverence, Sky sets another plate in front of a seemingly empty chair. Fiona blinks. There's someone there—an invisible invitee. She can't see it, but she feels it—the presence of something beyond the mundane. Her friend leans closer to the empty space, his breath a whispered incantation: "For you, partner." The words—spoken to thin air—echo like forgotten vows.
His partner feels like the presence that allowed her to forgive Bairon in her nightmare. Fiona grapples with this revelation. How can an unseen companion wield such power? Sky doesn't care if everyone else eats; Fiona waits. He addresses the empty chair: "What about it, partner? Want to accompany us to be alone?" The men—knowing more than they say—smile. They understand. "To purge the phantoms of our past, to talk without words, to know that you're here, right beside me, even if no one believes me?" Sky sighs just to conjure the strength to speak "To remember how much I loved once," he continues, "how strongly my heart once beat for one person, and one person only." His confession—a bittersweet offering—fills the air. "To poison my sins with the spices of my food." He glances at the empty chair, as if seeking approval. "I may not have jewels or gold to offer, but as I have offered you since the first day we met, I only have my friendship to offer once again."
The men—unaware of the primordial god in their midst—smile at Sky, at his invisible friend. They feel it—the cradle of divinity. The air hums with secrets. This isn't a sacred ritual held in ostentatious temples; it's a humble meeting of broken souls sharing food together. And the exiled god—the one who prefers this over majestic expressions of worship—fills the space with warmth. His presence—a sunbeam through clouds—transcends their pain. The food isn't mere sustenance; it's a blessing—an elixir that mends their shattered hearts.
Fiona feels the same vastness, that infinite empathy, she encountered in the nightmare. The same mischievous smile—hidden behind fluorescent lights—plays at the edges of her perception. The universe sings a crystal melody to this exiled god, and he enjoys it. He doesn't demand grand altars; he savors the quiet moments—the ones where broken souls like them find solace.
And here, at the dim-lit table in the food plaza, they feast—Amin, Ho-Jin, Sagar, Sky, and Fiona. Their plates hold more than food; they hold communion. The exiled god—the unseen partner—receives their offerings. And as they eat, they taste forgiveness, love, and the promise of shared memories. Fiona's fork hovers over the plate—a piece of meat she didn't ask for, seared to perfection. It's a simple cut, simple yet elegant, it carries the weight of forgotten feasts. The aroma—rich, primal—wafts toward her. It smells like ambrosia, like offerings whispered only to gods. And she, despite her poverty, is here, a mere mortal, about to taste this elixir.
She takes that bite—a communion with flavor. Her teeth pierce the meat, and the universe shifts. This wasn't just sustenance; it was a revelation. The juices burst forth—a cosmic nectar—an offering from realms beyond. Her taste buds awaken, each cell absorbing the life-giving energy of this elixir. The flavors—ancient and new—meld on her palate. It's as if the sun itself has condensed into this steak—a supernova contained.
Her poverty—the weight of her struggles—fades. The food—this divine bite—revitalizes her. It's not about fullness; it's about transcendence. She feels the power—the raw energy—of creation. Fiona, in this humble food plaza, becomes a temporal vessel for cosmic fire. Her eyes widen, and for a moment, she's not just herself; she is stardust and clay.
The men—unaware of the celestial drama unfolding—continue their conversations. But she—her senses ablaze—holds that taste in her mouth. It's not just nourishment; it's a blessing, devoid of judgment towards her. She swallows, and the universe shifts back. Fiona—the one who still has a chance—smiles. Maybe this bite—this stolen ambrosia—will help her bridge the gap between her and her daughter. Maybe it's more than food; it's a blessing—an invitation to remember her own place in the universe, despite how insignificant she feels.
Despite her failures, her mistakes, she is allowed to taste the divine. Poverty retreats for a full minute; hunger becomes reverence. She feels like laughing and crying at the same time, her emotions a kaleidoscope of impossible colors. It can't make her forget her loss, the chasm that separates her from her daughter, but it pushes her to bridge it. The exiled god cheers for her success silently, humbling her—the speck of dust, the minus in Camilla's life equation. Her grasp on the fork subsides but doesn't let go, just as she won't let go of the possibility of the quantum sensor bridging the gap for her, spanning the light-years of distance.
Fiona savored the familiar taste of her food, the ordinary now strangely comforting after the cosmic explosion on her tongue. The weight of her losses still ached, but a flicker of renewed determination burned within her. She wouldn't let her pain paralyze her—she couldn't.
A sudden crackle erupted from the mall speakers, jolting everyone out of their quiet conversations. The upbeat music that had been playing was replaced by static, then by a voice. It was different from the normal intelligent agents' metallic cadence—more natural, almost human. A hint of familiar pirate slurs lingered at the edges, a reminder of Dision's origins.
"Ahoy there, Fiona!" the voice boomed through the speakers. "This be Captain Dision at your service, or at least what's left of me. Looks like the authorities be hot on my digital tail, and there ain't no safe harbor in sight."
A pang of sadness crossed Fiona's face. Dision, despite being a pirated AI, had been a reluctant ally.
"But fear not, lass!" Dision continued. "Archon and I, with our unworthy digital lives, have done what we could. We've gathered intel on the components you will need for that fancy quantum doodad of yours. Consider it a parting gift."
A wave of gratitude washed over Fiona. This was more than she could have hoped for. Dision chuckled, a low rumble that echoed through the speakers.
"We will see each other again, but for now, go and build the compass, lass. Bridge that gap between the stars, just like the old pirates used to bridge the uncharted seas. Fair winds and tide, Fiona!"
The speakers fell silent, leaving an empty void in their wake. Fiona looked around, a mix of emotions swirling within her. Sadness for Dision's plight, gratitude for his help, and a renewed determination to succeed in her mission. This bite of food, this unexpected message—they were both signs, a push in the right direction.
Taking a deep breath, Fiona glanced at Sky, a question forming in her eyes. His steady gaze met hers, understanding the unspoken query. The room seemed to hum with a shared sense of purpose and possibility.
"Sky," she began, her voice steady but tinged with the weight of their collective losses, "Where are they? Dision and Archon...my phone is broken."
Sky nodded, his eyes reflecting the determination in her own. "Let's get you back to your magical place first, you will need to rest." Fiona's heart swelled with hope and resolve walking alongside these Stars of Destiny.