The day wore on, and the glow of the Celestines intensified, their shifting colors painting the world in radiant hues. The slum, for all its brokenness, seemed to glimmer under their light, as if even this neglected corner of the world had not been entirely forgotten by the heavens. Aya walked beside him, her small, nimble steps full of purpose, her bag slung over her shoulder and bouncing lightly against her side. She hummed a tuneless melody, the kind that children create when the world feels quiet enough to hear their thoughts.
"Mister," Aya began, looking up at him with her wide, curious eyes, "do you think the Celestines are watching us right now?" She tilted her head as if waiting for the sky itself to respond. "Big sister Tanya says they've been there forever. She says they're like... big lamps that don't go out." Her laughter bubbled up, a soft and fleeting sound. "But I think they're alive. Don't you? I think they look down and wonder about us, the same way we wonder about them."
He didn't respond, as usual, but his silence wasn't empty. It was attentive, a quiet that seemed to invite her words to fill it. Aya didn't seem to mind his lack of answers; in fact, she seemed to revel in his presence, as though his very stillness made her voice more important.
"You know, sometimes, when it's really late and everyone else is asleep, I like to lie down and watch them," she continued. Her voice dropped to a soft murmur, as if confessing a secret. "They're not the same at night, are they? They get all dim and quiet. I think that's when they rest." She paused, glancing up at the vibrant sky where the Celestines swirled and shimmered. "But during the day, they're awake, like now. It's like they're trying to make us notice them."
Aya's steps slowed, and she came to a stop near a crumbling wall, its stones cracked and overgrown with patches of moss. She crouched down and placed her bag on the ground, carefully pulling out one of the "treasures" she had collected earlier—a piece of metal polished to a dull shine by her small hands. "Do you think they like shiny things?" she asked, holding the metal up to the light. The reflection from the Celestines caught on its surface, sending faint rainbows dancing across the wall.
She giggled, delighted by the effect, then turned back to him. "I think they would. Maybe that's why they shine so much. They want us to see them, just like I want them to see me." Her voice faltered slightly, and for the first time, there was a hint of something deeper beneath her words—a longing that felt far older than her years. "Do you think they notice little people like us, mister? Or are we too small?"
He tilted his head, as if considering her question, then raised his gloved hand and pointed upward. It was a slow, deliberate movement, one that seemed to say, They see more than we know. Aya's face lit up, her smile wide and genuine. "I knew you'd agree with me, mister! You're the best listener ever, you know that?"
The two of them sat there for a while, the silence between them comfortable and unhurried. Aya continued to polish the piece of metal, her small hands working diligently, while he remained still, his hollow gaze fixed on the horizon. The Celestines continued their dance across the sky, their colors shifting and blending in mesmerizing patterns. It was as if they were alive, just as Aya believed, and their presence filled the air with an unspoken energy that made the world feel a little less broken.
Eventually, Aya leaned back against the wall, her small body relaxing as the weight of the day's efforts began to catch up with her. "Mister," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the distant hum of the slum. "Do you think the Celestines ever get lonely? Being up there all the time, watching but never talking to anyone?"
He turned his head slightly to look at her, his skeletal frame casting a faint shadow in the Celestines' light. She didn't wait for an answer, her words continuing in that same soft tone. "Sometimes I feel like that. Lonely, I mean. Even with my brothers and sisters. They're the best, really, but..." She trailed off, her eyes fixed on the sky. "It's different, you know? I wonder if they ever feel that way too."
For the first time, a flicker of something stirred within him—a faint, unnameable emotion that resonated with her words. Her loneliness was a quiet, persistent ache, one that seemed to mirror his own existence. He reached out slowly, his gloved bony hand resting lightly on her shoulder. It was a small gesture, but one that carried more weight than words ever could.
Aya looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise, then softened into a smile that was both grateful and sad. "Thanks, mister," she said, her voice trembling just a little. "You're really kind, you know that? Even if you don't talk, I think you say a lot."
The moment stretched between them, the world around them fading into the background as the bond between them deepened. Aya leaned her head against his arm, her small form dwarfed by his skeletal frame. The warmth of her presence was a stark contrast to the cold, empty shell of his body, yet in that moment, they felt connected in a way that transcended words.
As the day wore on and the Celestines began their slow descent, Aya finally stood, brushing the dirt from her clothes. "We should head back," she said, her voice light again, though her eyes still held a trace of that earlier melancholy. She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder, then reached out to take his hand. "Come on, mister. Let's go home."
Home. The word lingered in his mind as he followed her back through the winding paths of the slum. For Aya, it was a place filled with laughter and chaos, love and struggle. For him, it was a concept he had long forgotten. Yet somehow, in her presence, the idea didn't seem so foreign anymore.
When they returned to the small dwelling, the children greeted them with their usual mix of curiosity and excitement. Aya proudly showed off her finds, her voice animated as she recounted their day. The younger ones crowded around her, their eyes wide with wonder, while Tanya and Sach looked on with quiet smiles.
As night fell and the Celestines dimmed once more, Aya curled up beside him, her small hand clutching his as her breathing slowed. The slum grew quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the aether in the distance. He remained awake, his hollow gaze fixed on the dim glow of the Celestines, their faint light a constant presence in the darkness.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he didn't feel alone.