The day unfolded like a tapestry, the brightened Celestines casting their endless hues across the battered world. Aya's energy was boundless, as though the light itself fueled her small frame. After their visit to the hilltop, she had returned to her usual chatter, her voice rising and falling like a melody only she could hear.
"Mister, I have an idea!" she declared as they made their way back through the slum's labyrinthine pathways. Her fingers, still clutching his bony hand, tightened momentarily as she turned to face him, her eyes brimming with excitement. "Today, we're going to make something amazing. Something for the Celestines!"
Aya pulled him toward their little corner of the world, where the other children were busy with their tasks. Tanya was guiding the younger ones in sorting through scraps of cloth and bits of metal, her expression one of quiet focus. Sach was still nowhere to be seen, and Aya didn't seem concerned about his absence.
Aya led him to a spot beneath a tattered canopy where she kept a small bundle of treasures she had gathered over time—bits of colored glass, fragments of wire, and tiny shards of crystal that shimmered faintly in the light. She knelt beside the bundle, gesturing for him to do the same.
"Look, mister," she said, spreading the items out before them. "I've been saving these for something special. Tanya always says we should use what we have wisely, but I think it's okay to make something just because it makes us happy. Don't you think so?"
He nodded slowly, his empty gaze fixed on the sparkling fragments. Aya's enthusiasm was infectious, and though he could not speak, she seemed to sense his agreement.
"Good!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "We're going to make a tribute to the Celestines. Something to thank them for watching over us."
She began sorting through the pieces, her small hands moving quickly and confidently. Occasionally, she would hold up an item for his approval, her face lighting up whenever he nodded. The pile grew smaller as she selected the best pieces, creating a small arrangement of colors and shapes that seemed to capture the essence of the Celestines' light.
As they worked, Aya talked—about her dreams, her favorite places in the slum, and the games she played with the younger children. But her voice softened when she spoke of the Celestines.
"I think they're alive," she said quietly, holding up a shard of crystal that refracted the light into a rainbow. "Not like us, but in a different way. Tanya says they're just lights, but I don't believe that. I think they know we're here. I think they care about us."
She looked at him, her expression serious. "Don't you think so, mister?"
He hesitated, then nodded. He didn't know if the Celestines were alive or if they cared, but he knew they meant something to Aya. That was enough.
Hours passed as they worked together, the tribute taking shape before them. Aya used strips of cloth to bind the pieces together, creating a delicate structure that looked like a small, glowing star. When it was finished, she held it up triumphantly, her face glowing with pride.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, her voice filled with wonder. "Do you think they'll like it, mister?"
He nodded again, the motion slow and deliberate. Aya beamed at him, her joy so pure and unguarded that it made his chest ache.
"We should take it to the hill," she said, already on her feet. "Come on, mister! We have to show them!"
The journey to the hill felt different this time. Aya's excitement was palpable, her steps quick and light as she carried the tribute in her hands. The other children watched them go, their curious gazes following the strange pair as they disappeared into the maze of the slum.
When they reached the top, Aya placed the tribute on the ground and knelt beside it, her hands clasped in front of her as though in prayer. She glanced up at him, her eyes shining.
"Sit with me, mister," she said softly. "We have to wait until the light touches it."
He lowered himself to the ground, his skeletal frame creaking slightly with the motion. Aya leaned against him, her small form warm and solid beside his. Together, they watched as the light of the Celestines shifted and danced, the tribute glowing faintly in its brilliance.
Aya's voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again. "Do you think they're happy, mister? Do you think they can see it?"
He didn't know how to answer, but he reached out and placed his hand over hers, his touch light and tentative. Aya's fingers curled around his, and she smiled.
"They see it," she said with quiet certainty. "I know they do."
The day stretched on, the Celestines' light growing brighter as the hours passed. Aya's energy never waned, and she spent the time telling him stories—some real, some imagined. She spoke of the slum, of her family, and of the dreams she held close to her heart.
"I want to build something someday," she said, her voice full of determination. "Something big and beautiful, like the Celestines. Something that will make people stop and look and remember that there's still good in the world."
Her words hung in the air, carried on the gentle hum of the Celestines. He didn't know what the future held, but in that moment, he felt a flicker of hope—a fragile, precious thing that seemed to take root in the light of Aya's unwavering belief.
As the day wore on, the Celestines began to dim, their light softening as the world prepared for another cycle. Aya yawned, her eyelids drooping as she leaned more heavily against him.
"Mister," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. "Do you think… the Celestines have names?"
He tilted his head, a silent question.
"I think they do," she continued, her words slowing. "Maybe… one of them is called Hope. And another is… Love. And maybe… they're all looking out for us."
Her voice trailed off, and she fell asleep, her head resting against his bony shoulder. The tribute shimmered faintly in the fading light, a fragile beacon against the encroaching shadows.
For a long time, he sat there, unmoving, the weight of Aya's small form grounding him. The Celestines dimmed further, their light soft and distant, but still present.
And he felt something stir within him—a faint, flickering connection to the world around him, born of the unwavering belief of a little girl who saw beauty in everything, even him.