The Smile That Followed the Mask

(Marvel, DC, images, manhuas, and every anime that will be mentioned and used in this story are not mine. They all belong to their respective owners. The main character "Karito/Adriel Josue Valdez" and the story are mine)

Peter Parker shivered.

No—not just shivered. He trembled, convulsing in silence.

It was cold.

Colder than anything he'd ever felt since becoming a Guardian. This wasn't just temperature—it was emptiness. Bone-deep. Soul-deep.

Everything around him was black. Not darkness like night—but something more primal. A void that swallowed even the concept of light. It felt like existence had turned inside out.

And then came the sensation.

A slow, prickling itch crawling across his skin.

At first, he thought it was just nerves. But the longer it went on, the more he realized—no. This was different. Wrong. It felt like spiders. Thousands of them. Crawling beneath his skin, weaving through his muscles, biting, burrowing.

He gasped.

But there was no air.

Only the sharp sting of frozen wind biting at his lungs with every desperate inhale. Breathing wasn't just hard—it hurt. Like every breath scraped against the inside of his ribs.

His chest tightened.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

He tried to move—and that's when it hit him.

Crawl.

That word echoed in his mind, like instinct. He felt the need to crawl toward something... anything.

That's when he saw it.

A faint, pulsing light in the distance. Pale. Ominous. It flickered like a dying flame, but it was the only thing in this nightmare that had shape. A destination.

He tried to step toward it—

But there were no steps.

He looked down.

And froze.

His legs weren't there.

Gone. Torn off. Nothing but cauterized stumps and dried blood trailing behind him.

A scream ripped from his throat.

But it came out as a whisper.

Panic set in like wildfire. He didn't understand—how hadn't he noticed this? How could something so horrifying slip past his senses?

The crawling intensified.

The spiders weren't outside anymore.

They were inside.

Inside his legs—where his legs used to be. Writhing. Nesting. Burning.

"Stop," he gasped, trying to claw at the sensation. "Please... stop..."

His breath quickened.

Hyperventilating. His lungs screamed for oxygen. His heart raced like it wanted to tear itself out of his chest.

The more he looked, the more real the pain became.

And the light?

Still there.

Still waiting.

He didn't know why, but it called to him.

So he did what instinct told him to do.

He crawled.

His hands scraped against the cold stone—or maybe it was metal. It felt too smooth. Too foreign. Like crawling across bone.

"Someone..." he whispered hoarsely. "Help..."

Each inch forward made it worse. The light didn't warm him. It didn't guide him. It suffocated him. The air around it thinned with each breath, crushing his lungs. Every movement made the sensation in his body spike.

But he kept crawling.

Because what else could he do?

"Please... anyone..."

His voice cracked.

The spiders burned now. Twisting through phantom nerves. His fingers bled as they scraped the ground, dragging a mutilated body that barely felt like his own.

He reached for the light.

It pulsed—one final time.

And then—

Darkness.

Again.

Total.

Absolute.

The light vanished.

And Peter was alone.

Breathing jagged sobs into a void that didn't care.

Peter felt pressure.

Crushing, suffocating pressure.

His body screamed as if the air itself had become stone, like he was being flattened under a cosmic fist. He didn't understand what was happening—where he was, what was real, what was imagined.

His thoughts spun in a chaotic spiral. His mind was short-circuiting.

The sensation kept tightening—his chest, his ribs, his skull—until he swore he could hear bones cracking. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't even scream.

Then—

He woke up.

Gasping, shuddering, shaking.

Reality hit like a sledgehammer, and it didn't offer comfort.

He was strapped to a table.

The cold bite of Darkenstine chains dug into his limbs, each link humming with unnatural energy—sapping his strength, numbing his nerves. The pain wasn't sharp. It was slow. Lingering. Like friction grinding flesh raw with every tiny movement.

He blinked.

Darkness surrounded him, thick and oily like tar, lit only by dull, pulsing crimson lights above. His body ached in ways that felt inhuman. His muscles twitched involuntarily, still reeling from whatever nightmare he'd just survived.

Then he remembered.

The voice.

Red Goblin.

He remembered what he said right before everything went black.

"You're going to suffer."

Peter swallowed hard, stomach twisting.

What the hell was that vision? That hallucination? Was it real? A test? A threat? He didn't know. All he knew was that it felt real.

Then—laughter.

That unmistakable, high-pitched, venom-laced cackle echoed through the chamber, slithering into every corner of Peter's mind.

"Welcome back, Spider-Man," Red Goblin's voice oozed through the room. "Was it too much? That was just a taste."

Peter gritted his teeth. "You..."

"You're in my home, Peter," Red Goblin continued, stepping into view, his smile carved wider than his face could hold. "You're in the core of my region. And here, Peter... I'm everything. Omnipotent. Untouchable. Your mind? Your memories? Your fears? They're mine to play with."

Peter's eyes widened.

Red Goblin leaned in, grinning wider.

"Oh, don't bother trying to figure out where you are," he sneered. "You never know who might be reading. Who might be peeking through the fourth wall. Other Guardians might be watching. Readers. Narrators. Even Adriel could try to trace my script."

He tapped his temple mockingly.

"So I silenced it. Cut the strings. Not even the narrative itself will whisper where I am."

Peter's chest heaved.

Red Goblin raised a claw. "But none of that matters. Because this? This is your arc, now."

He circled the table like a vulture.

"Ace had his chapter. So did Adriel. And now... it's your turn."

He leaned in again.

"Two Guardians left. You. And that knight girl. But don't worry. You won't be lonely for long. You'll have plenty of company soon."

Peter struggled.

Tugged.

Wrenched.

The chains didn't budge.

Instead, they burned. Sparks flew as the cursed metal bit deeper into his skin, carving through his wrists, his ankles, his shoulders.

He screamed.

But Red Goblin just laughed.

"Oh, that sound," he mused. "It's like music. You know, I made sure to remove your Iron Spider suit. I'm not stupid. I know that little toy is made with Narralith. You think I'd let that stay active?"

Peter's breath caught. "Where is it?!"

Red Goblin clicked his tongue. "Oh, somewhere safe. Elsewhere. Hidden until the script calls for it. You won't see it again—not until I'm done."

He crouched beside Peter's face, eyes gleaming with madness.

"You should feel special," he whispered. "You're not just a test subject. You're dinner. I'm preparing the meal, Peter. Slow-roasting your soul until it's just right."

Peter's body trembled.

He couldn't tell if it was fear or fury—or both.

"But for now..." Red Goblin stood back, spreading his arms. "We're going to have so much fun."

Peter screamed.

A voice full of panic.

Full of terror.

Full of helpless rage.

And Red Goblin simply laughed—louder than ever.

The laughter echoed like broken glass inside his skull.

Red Goblin didn't wait.

He slammed his fist straight into Peter's face—brutal, fast, and full of venom.

Peter didn't even register the hit. His vision turned white. Then red. Then nothing.

It was like his head collapsed inward.

Then silence.

...

He awoke.

Soft sheets. Warm air.

His breath no longer clawed at his throat. The cold, the darkness—gone.

He was in the Nexus of Knowledge and Imagination.

And Chrona was beside him.

That thought alone should've been impossible.

But for some reason... he didn't question it.

He felt like there was something just out of reach. A memory. A truth. Something screaming to be remembered. But the more he tried to grasp it, the more his mind just—refused. Like static fuzz in a broken signal.

So he let it go.

He went with the flow.

His body felt warm, the bed impossibly comfortable. A calm, dulled sense of peace swirled in the air like perfume.

He turned on his side.

The room around him was elegant—futuristic beyond comprehension. Architecture and design only Type 40 civilizations could master. Fluid tech. Shifting panels. Living metal and celestial circuitry that pulsed in tune with his heartbeat.

Everything felt real.

But nothing felt questioned.

He took it in, dazed, silent.

Then, on the other side of the bed... her.

Chrona.

Her black silk hair fell freely across the pillow, her features soft in the dim glow of the room. She wore simple pajamas, but to Peter, she may as well have been draped in stardust.

She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

In all of fiction.

In all of anything.

He leaned over and gently brushed his hand against her cheek.

She stirred slightly, then blinked awake. Her lavender eyes met his.

She smiled. "Good morning, tiger." 

Peter smiled softly in return. "Good morning."

Chrona tilted her head. "You were a little stiff last night. Everything okay?"

He paused.

There it was again.

That pull in his brain. That sense that something was missing. A truth he had to dig up. A feeling of... wrongness.

But it melted again.

Like fog under sunlight.

"I think it was just a nightmare," he replied quietly. "Or something like that. I can't really remember. But I'm fine."

She nodded, reaching out to him under the covers, and they wrapped their arms around each other.

Their warmth filled the silence.

It felt... peaceful. Unnatural, maybe. But right, in a way he couldn't define.

"What do you want to eat?" she asked playfully, nudging her head under his chin.

He smirked. "We technically don't need to eat. You know, Nexus perks. We're basically beyond boundless here—beyond hunger, pain, biology... Everything. Kinda hard to crave waffles when you're a narrative god."

She giggled. "That's true. This place has been my home for... an eternity, I think. I lost count. But I'll never forget who visited me first."

She smiled at him, her fingers tracing patterns along his arm.

"It was Adriel. He pulled me out of a void I thought would last forever. A library with every ounce of imagination and knowledge in the internet—and I was completely alone in it."

Peter listened, his heart beating just a little slower. The memory—her memory—felt so vivid. So true.

"If it weren't for him," she said softly, "we wouldn't have met. We wouldn't be here."

They shared a moment—warm, calm, surreal.

Then she nudged his side again. "Let's make waffles. From scratch."

He raised a brow. "You just said we don't need to eat."

"True," she smirked. "But it's satisfying. The taste. The smell. The warmth. It reminds me of... life. You know?"

He thought about it.

And nodded. "Yeah. Let's do it."

They got up, hand in hand, walking barefoot through the radiant halls of the Nexus.

Their destination?

The kitchen.

Their goal?

Waffles.

And behind Peter's eyes—far, far behind—a distant scream still echoed in the dark corners of his mind.

But he didn't hear it.

Not yet.

The walk through the Nexus of Knowledge and Imagination was unlike any other journey.

Peter and Chrona moved effortlessly, hand in hand, gliding past glowing halls of sentient data and narrative particles. The vast library stretched on endlessly—rows of floating tomes suspended in zero gravity, swirling currents of imagination rendered visible, like constellations of thought and theory. Every step felt like a heartbeat of creation. Every shift in direction brought them to new corridors without any clear transition.

They didn't walk so much as phase. Crossed dimensions like turning pages.

One second they were in a corridor made of code, the next, on a path paved with blank pages, each one filling with words as they passed.

And then, casually—naturally—they were in the kitchen.

It looked humble. Too humble for a space beyond The Outside.

A large stone counter, wooden cabinets with smooth brass handles, and a stove with polished obsidian plates. The light was warm, almost orange, casting soft shadows over the cozy, modern space. Above them, tiny spark-like motes floated lazily, mimicking sunlight through leaves.

Chrona reached for the cabinet, pulling out a metallic mixing bowl and setting it on the counter. "Alright, chef Parker," she said playfully, tying her hair back. "Let's make waffles the old-fashioned way."

Peter chuckled, rolling up the sleeves of his Nexus sleepwear. "You sure we can't just conjure waffles with a snap?" he teased.

"Where's the fun in that?" she winked.

They gathered the ingredients: flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, eggs, milk, and butter. The items seemed to appear naturally as needed, tucked into the fridge or hidden within seemingly ordinary drawers. Everything they touched felt unusually warm and familiar—as if the kitchen itself welcomed their presence.

Peter cracked two eggs into the bowl while Chrona measured out the flour. He whisked slowly, steady movements. The act felt peaceful, grounding.

She leaned over his shoulder, sniffing playfully. "Smells like nostalgia."

"Tastes like childhood," Peter replied, smirking.

They poured in the milk, mixed until smooth, and melted the butter in a small glass bowl. As Chrona stirred, Peter reached to preheat the waffle iron—

—and stopped.

For a second—less than a second—

the stove didn't look like metal.

It looked like flesh.

Piled. Stacked. Pulsing. A grotesque mound of meaty, raw tissue.

Then, it wasn't.

Back to smooth steel. Shining. Silent.

Peter blinked.

A chill traced his spine.

He stared a second longer. He felt he should say something. Question it. Touch it. But his hand just moved.

He flipped the switch.

Nothing was wrong.

Just... nothing.

Chrona turned, her eyes bright. "All set?"

He smiled. "Yeah. Just zoning out."

She giggled, returning to the batter. "Then let's zone into waffles."

They poured the batter into the iron and waited, the sizzle of cooking food filling the space. A sweet smell spread through the air, vanilla and warmth and joy.

Chrona leaned against the counter, humming softly. Peter watched her, admiring how peaceful she looked.

Then she reached over to lift the waffle iron lid—

—and her finger caught fire.

It burned off. Completely.

Black. Charred. Gone.

Peter's eyes widened.

Chrona didn't scream. She just looked down—expression unchanged.

Then, in an instant—

Her hand was fine.

Finger intact.

No wound. No scorch mark. No pain.

Peter stared.

Two seconds of silence.

"Peter?" she asked softly. "Something wrong?"

He blinked. Looked at her.

"No... Just spaced out again. That's all."

Chrona smiled gently and patted his chest. "Well, try to stay with me. These waffles aren't going to cook themselves."

He nodded, slowly. The chill passed. Like it was never there.

They stacked the first batch—perfectly golden, steam curling upward in gentle spirals. Peter reached for plates as Chrona carefully layered a few squares into each. He handed her the syrup, and she drizzled it over the stack, smiling with childlike joy.

The syrup shimmered slightly as it poured, catching the light like liquid crystal.

"Smells amazing," Peter said, inhaling deeply.

"Tastes even better."

They sat across from each other at the small dining nook. Peter took the first bite. The crunch, the softness, the warmth—it was perfect. Not because he needed it, but because he wanted it. It reminded him of life. Of warmth. Of something real.

Chrona watched him eat, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"See?" she said, playfully smug. "Beyond boundless gods still crave waffles."

He grinned with his mouth full.

They laughed.

It was the kind of laughter that made the Nexus itself feel alive.

And the shadows watching from beyond the veil remained silent.

—for now.

A soft hum echoed through the kitchen, and in a flash of gentle gold, Adriel appeared near the counter.

Chrona smirked. "You woke up just in time. I made an extra plate, just in case."

Adriel rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. "You two and your cosmic waffle rituals. I swear this place smells like syrup more often than stardust."

Peter chuckled and waved him over. "Sit. You missed the nostalgic joy of mixing batter with existential peace."

Adriel took his seat and began cutting into the warm stack Chrona prepared. "Well, I'm here now. That counts for something."

"It does," Chrona said warmly.

As they ate, Peter launched into a story, leaning back slightly with his fork in hand. "So, during my mission in the Anime Omniverse, I ended up in the world of Go-Tōbun no Hanayome. You know, Quintessential Quintuplets."

Adriel raised an eyebrow, amused. "Did you really just say that with a straight face?"

Peter smirked. "I became academic rivals with Fuutarou Uesugi. Poor guy never stood a chance. I mean, my IQ is 250, and I have Guardian-level processing speeds. He didn't know what hit him."

Chrona covered her mouth as she laughed. "Let me guess. You tried to keep a low profile?"

"Tried," Peter said with a sigh. "But that damn passive skill—Guardian Aura. Four out of five sisters ended up falling for me. And I wasn't even trying."

"Let me guess," Adriel said, already chuckling. "Miku still liked Fuutarou."

Peter nodded. "Yep. Girl had tunnel vision. Didn't matter how many times I outscored him or gave sage advice. She was loyal to her story."

Chrona shrugged. "Honestly, if I was in your place, every boy in that narrative would've been after me too. Same passive ability, remember? The problem is, I'm too powerful for most narratives to contain. I have to stay in the Nexus unless the story structure itself gets destabilized enough to let me in."

Adriel nodded thoughtfully. "Like how Astral Regulator Thanos ended up in the MCU after our fight with Dark-Infused Thanos. We damaged that layer of fiction so badly that the original AR Thanos snuck in without collapsing everything."

Peter's expression dimmed. His fork lowered. "Yeah. That was a bad day. Everyone I knew in the MCU... they're gone. All of them."

Chrona saw the change in him instantly. Her smile faded. She leaned over, gently placing her hand over his.

"You're not alone," she said softly.

Peter looked into her eyes. There was comfort there. Understanding.

Adriel opened his mouth to speak, but Chrona raised a hand subtly.

She had it covered.

Adriel respected the gesture. He nodded, finishing his last bite before standing.

"I'll give you two some space," he said gently. "I need to check the Constellation Matrix anyway."

With a shimmer of light, Adriel vanished from the kitchen.

Chrona stayed close, her hand never leaving Peter's.

She gently brushed her thumb over the back of his hand.

Peter exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging. "I miss them. My Aunt May... Ned... Tony... everyone from my world. It doesn't stop hurting."

She didn't interrupt. She let him speak.

"May always made me feel like no matter what I did, I could come home. Ned... he was the first real friend I had after everything. And Tony? He believed in me when I couldn't even believe in myself. He made me more than just the 'kid from Queens.'"

Chrona nodded softly. "I know what that loss feels like."

Peter glanced at her, pain still lingering in his eyes.

She met his gaze, her expression unreadably tender. "I wasn't always alone, you know. There were others like me. Nexus Librarians. We watched over the Guardians, the stories, the flow of imagination. I wasn't the first."

Peter tilted his head. "You were part of a lineage?"

She smiled faintly. "Yes. Generations of us. But as the Darks grew stronger, they began to devour even us. The last Nexus Librarian before me... she saved me. Sealed me away with a fragment—just one percent of the Nexus."

Peter's eyes widened. "One percent?"

Chrona looked down. "She told me she was sorry. That she hoped I'd forgive her. She separated me from the rest... from the Internet, from the Deep Web, even the Dark Web. All to protect this small fraction of what was left."

She closed her eyes for a moment.

"From a distance, I saw her die. A Dark consumed her while she smiled at me one last time. I was left alone. Trapped for what felt like eternity. No stories. No readers. No Guardians. Just silence."

Peter didn't say anything. He couldn't. He just listened.

"I held on," she continued. "Because she asked me to. Because the knowledge and imagination of the human race couldn't be allowed to vanish. And so I endured."

She turned to him again, her voice softer now, like a breeze through old pages. "And then you came. A Guardian. A spark. Someone who made the silence stop."

Peter swallowed hard. "Chrona..."

She squeezed his hand. "You don't have to carry it alone. You don't have to act strong for everyone else. You can cry. You can scream. I'll still be here. I'm not going anywhere."

His throat tightened. He looked away, blinking quickly, but she leaned forward and rested her forehead against his.

"You saved me, Peter. So let me return the favor."

Chrona leaned forward, her eyes shimmering with emotion, and Peter met her halfway. Their lips touched softly at first—then deepened into a passionate kiss. For one minute, the world didn't exist. Just them. Just this.

When they finally pulled apart, she smiled teasingly. "So... wanna go shopping?"

Peter blinked. "Shopping?"

She nodded innocently. "Yes. With me. As my boyfriend."

He gave her a deadpan look. "Chrona. You do realize we can just imagine any outfit we want into existence, right?"

"Yeah," she said with a mischievous grin. "But I've never been shopping with my boyfriend before. Humor me. I want your opinion on what looks good on me."

He opened his mouth, thought about it, then sighed with a faint smile. "Alright. Sure. Why not?"

Her eyes lit up as she grabbed his hand, pulling him through one of the many shimmering corridors of the Nexus.

They arrived at the Nexus Viewing Pavilion—a chamber with countless floating screens, each one showing a different dimension, culture, or fictional universe. Peter had once used it for surveillance. Now? It was a date.

Chrona tapped her fingers together, staring at a rotating world resembling a magical girl anime. "Let's try this one."

She extended her hand through the screen—literally phasing it into the dimension—and pulled out a glittery, frilly dress with a big ribbon.

It instantly materialized on her body with a shimmer.

Peter blinked. "Okay, okay. That's... a lot of pink."

She giggled. "Too much?"

"You look like a high-level boss from a magical girl JRPG."

"So... yes?"

He nodded. "Big yes. But only for combat intimidation."

She laughed and waved her hand, changing outfits again. This time, she reached into a noir detective universe. A long trench coat, fedora, and a smoky air surrounded her as her form shifted into a gumshoe-style private investigator.

Peter leaned back, impressed. "Alright, now you look like you're about to uncover a scandal involving alien mobsters and corrupt time cops."

"Noted. I'll save this for when I need to interrogate narrative fragments."

"You joke, but that could totally happen here."

They wandered through more dimensions—Chrona pulling outfit after outfit into the Nexus, each one transforming her entire appearance in seconds. She tried an armored fantasy knight look with a massive claymore.

Peter smirked. "That one makes you look like you're about to solo a dark god."

"Is that a good thing?"

"You look incredible. Also terrifying."

She smiled and leaned close. "Terrifying's part of the appeal."

They kept moving. Next was a streetwear dimension—Chrona emerged in a sleek hoodie, joggers, and neon-accented sneakers.

Peter gave her a thumbs up. "Now you look like you're about to drop the hardest lo-fi album of the century."

"Perfect. I'll call it Infinite Layers of Chill."

They both burst out laughing.

One by one, Chrona cycled through outfits. A steampunk aviator look. A futuristic synthwave bodysuit. Even an elegant queen gown from a universe that looked like fantasy Bridgerton.

Peter offered honest feedback on each one—sometimes goofy, sometimes sincere. But through it all, he smiled. Genuinely.

They ended up sitting on the edge of one screen, legs dangling over what looked like a universe filled with floating islands.

Chrona leaned her head on his shoulder. "Thank you. For coming with me."

He turned to her. "Honestly? This has been one of the best dates I've ever had."

She nudged him. "Even better than that time you got invited to a royal gala in that alternate Atlantis and got hit on by the fish queen?"

"That was not a date. That was a political hostage situation."

"She gave you a coral necklace."

"Exactly."

They both laughed again, softer this time.

Peter looked out at the dimension ahead. The clouds swirled gently. The islands floated lazily in the air.

Chrona reached out and gently grabbed another outfit from the screen. This time, a simple one—a light sweater and jeans. Something casual. Familiar. It shimmered onto her form.

"What about this?"

Peter looked at her. The casualness of it, the normalcy—it hit different.

He smiled. "Perfect."

She blushed slightly. "Okay. Then I'm keeping this one."

They sat in silence for a moment longer, fingers interlaced.

For a moment, Peter believed he could just stay in this version of forever.

Even if it was just a lie.

Time passed in a blur after that. Chrona, with a playful spark in her eyes, insisted on dragging Peter through every little thing she thought would be fun. They visited pocket galleries within the Nexus, ran along simulated beaches crafted from mythological oceans, even played tag in low-gravity zones near the Realm of Forgotten Imaginings. For the first time in a while, Peter laughed—not the kind that masked pain, but something real. Something full.

Eventually, the sun in their pocket world—one of Chrona's favorite design choices—began to dip into a warm artificial dusk.

Chrona stretched with a content sigh and looked at Peter with a grin. "Alright, boyfriend. Fun time's over. Time to head back home."

Peter smiled, still a little winded from laughing too hard at a failed attempt to recreate a zero-gravity somersault. "Yeah. Let's go."

They snapped back to their personal domain, the private sanctuary nestled within the Nexus—a home they had designed together. From the outside, it looked like a dream made real. The skies were always a gentle cascade of color, like watercolors in motion. The trees hummed softly when wind passed through their crystalline leaves. Time here was... still, but not stagnant. Perfect.

As they stepped inside, Chrona made her way to the living room. With a wave of her hand, the wall-sized screen activated, cycling through livestreams and coded updates. New stories were forming in real time, harvested from the real world—web novels, games, videos, and every corner of humanity's imagination. It was part of their duty to observe, to spot shifts that might indicate a Dark invasion.

Peter, meanwhile, peeled away toward the bathroom.

He undressed and stepped into the shower, letting the water wash away the residual warmth of their escapades. But something felt... off. As the steam rose and surrounded him, a creeping sensation slithered up his spine.

His vision swam slightly, and a sudden pressure exploded behind his eyes like an unseen spike.

He winced.

His hand went to the bridge of his nose, trying to massage away the pain. "What the hell am I forgetting?" he mumbled, the migraine splitting him down the center.

Just as quickly as it came, the pressure eased.

"Peter?" Chrona's voice chimed from the bathroom entrance. She stepped in without hesitation, slipping into the shower with him. Her expression softened as she saw his furrowed brow.

"You okay?" she asked gently, placing her hand on his chest.

Peter blinked the steam out of his eyes and nodded. "Yeah. Just... weird headache. It's nothing."

Chrona wasn't convinced.

"Want me to check?" she asked.

He nodded this time. "Yeah. Please."

They finished the shower in silence, her watchful eyes occasionally flicking toward his expression. After drying off, they moved together into the medbay embedded within their house.

Peter sat on the edge of a polished platform while Chrona activated the diagnostic glyphs engraved into the floor. The runes around her body ignited with ethereal light, casting soft shadows as she stepped closer.

She placed a hand on his forehead, another hovering just above his chest.

Minutes passed.

She scanned every molecule, every metaphysical thread, and every anomaly that could exist within the body of a Guardian.

Nothing.

She stepped back slowly, her brows furrowing. "There's nothing wrong with you. Not biologically, not spiritually, not narratively. You're... clean."

"That's weird," Peter muttered, sliding off the table. "I definitely felt something."

Chrona crossed her arms. "I believe you. But whatever it is, it's hiding."

Peter yawned. "Maybe I just need a reset. A night of actual sleep."

She raised an eyebrow. "You know you don't need to sleep here."

"I know. But I'd rather lie down for eight hours than float around doing nothing."

Chrona chuckled, nudging him. "Fair enough. I'll initiate a sleep cycle. The Nexus can simulate it."

Together, they walked back to their room, the soft hum of starlight overhead guiding their path. Even in silence, her hand stayed in his.

And while Peter couldn't explain the growing pressure in the back of his mind...

He allowed himself to believe that rest—at least for tonight—might help him forget the shadows clawing at his thoughts.

A minute later, they arrived at their room.

Chrona slipped into the closet with a teasing smirk while Peter didn't even make it to the pillows—he face-planted right onto the bed with a heavy exhale. The sheets felt cool, comforting, familiar. But his mind didn't quiet down.

The migraine from earlier still echoed faintly, like a whisper at the edge of thought. He furrowed his brow, flipping over and staring up at the ceiling.

"What the hell is going on...?" he muttered to himself.

That wasn't just a headache. And those strange visions—flesh on the stove, Chrona's finger vanishing—it wasn't normal. It wasn't right.

He should be asking more questions. He should be trying to dig into it, to analyze, to figure out what's wrong.

But instead...

His mind dulled, like a fog rolling over his thoughts.

Just like every other time today, the urgency to understand simply faded away.

Then—

The closet door opened with a soft click.

Peter turned his head lazily—and his breath hitched in his throat.

Chrona stood there, wearing a nightgown that shimmered like woven moonlight. It draped perfectly along her form, accentuating her curves with an elegance that made time feel slower.

She leaned against the doorframe, smirking playfully. "Still alive?"

Peter blinked, the corners of his lips tugging upward. "Barely."

She stepped forward, hips swaying just enough to make her point, and crawled onto the bed beside him.

"You look like you've had a long day," she murmured, eyes glinting with affection—and something mischievous.

Peter exhaled slowly. "You have no idea."

Chrona traced a finger down his arm. "Then let me help you forget it for a while."

The lights dimmed automatically as their lips met.

And the Nexus, as always, respected its inhabitants' privacy.

No words needed. No explanations.

Only warmth.

Only trust.

Only each other.

The Next Morning...

Peter stirred as digital sunlight spilled into the room from the arched window of their pocket dimension. The bed beside him was empty. That alone was enough to make him blink twice.

Chrona was always there in the morning, curled next to him, arm draped across his chest. They usually woke together, shared smiles, soft words, maybe even another nap if the Nexus was especially quiet. But today? Nothing.

He sat up slowly, wincing as his muscles ached with a strange dullness. It wasn't from strain. No, it was like a shadow of fatigue that clung to the bones. He looked around. The familiar serenity of their room was intact, but something—something was wrong.

He dressed lazily, slipping into his usual black Guardian undersuit, and rubbed the back of his neck as a flicker of unease tickled his spine. He scratched at his left forearm.

Again.

He winced.

The hell?

Peter looked down. Red lines. He hadn't even realized he was doing it that hard. He shook it off and stood. Maybe she just got up early.

Still, something wasn't right.

The Nexus—this place that usually radiated imagination, that buzzed with infinite thought and creativity—felt... muted. The air wasn't humming. The light didn't dance. The walls didn't shift with ideas. No ripples of inspiration flowed through the crystalline pathways.

It felt sterile.

He moved through the hallways, teleporting casually across the layers. He searched the kitchen. The medbay. The archives. She wasn't there.

His arm itched again.

He clawed at it.

It burned.

Peter growled and gritted his teeth. What the hell was going on with him? That itch, that... habit. He never had it. But it felt so damn familiar. Like something he'd always done.

But that wasn't true.

He tried shaking the thought, teleporting again.

Reception.

There.

Chrona stood beside the floating globe of narrative streams—the ones that visualized the influx of stories and data from the real world. She was staring at it, smiling.

But the smile... wasn't hers.

"Chrona?" he called out.

She turned slowly, unnaturally, like she hadn't heard him until that last moment.

Then she smiled wider.

"Good morning, my love~" she cooed.

Peter blinked. The tone. The eyes. The posture. It was all wrong. It was her voice. Her face. But it wasn't her. It was like an actress trying too hard to imitate a perfect girlfriend.

"Where were you?" he asked.

She walked toward him, hips swaying unnaturally.

"I was just watching over our paradise," she purred. "Like I always do~"

Peter stepped back slightly. She noticed.

"Are you sick?" she asked, tilting her head. "You look pale, love. Maybe I should heal you again."

"Chrona, what's wrong with you?"

She blinked innocently. Then frowned. Her whole demeanor shifted like a wind chime caught in a storm.

"What's wrong with me? Oh, Peter~ No, no, no..."

She reached out and touched his face.

"The only one that's wrong... is you."

Peter recoiled.

Her hand was warm.

Too warm.

His skin tingled where she touched him. Like static. Like venom.

"You keep looking at me like that," she said. Her voice lowered. Drenched in sugar and rot. "Like I'm some stranger. But I'm yours. You made me yours, Peter."

She stepped closer, breathing against his neck.

"Last night was amazing, wasn't it?"

Peter staggered back. "What the hell is this?"

She tilted her head again.

"You really don't remember?" she said.

And then she handed him a mirror.

He looked.

And froze.

His reflection wasn't his.

It was a twisted version of himself. Blood-red eyes. Jagged black veins running down his neck. A grin that stretched too wide. Energy pulsing from his body—Dark energy. Pure Dark corruption.

He screamed.

"No... no, no, no, this isn't me. I'm not like that. I fight them. I destroy them! I—"

Chrona grabbed him.

"But you did, Peter. You turned. And you loved it."

He shook his head violently. "I would never! I would never hurt you!"

She leaned in.

"You already did."

Her body flickered. Her soft eyes darkened. Her smile twisted.

Her arms were covered in black veins.

She grinned madly.

"You corrupted me. With your love. Your touch. Your essence."

Peter stepped back, horrified.

"Chrona... I didn't mean to..."

She held her stomach.

"Maybe I should give you more of you," she said, voice turning sharp, desperate, hungry. "Would you like that? More love? More fun? You don't need to think anymore. Just feel. Forever."

Peter's vision swam.

The pressure in his skull exploded. He fell to his knees.

"Snap out of it! This isn't real! This isn't you!"

Chrona stepped over him.

"No," she said, voice flat now.

And her eyes turned to void.

"It's you who's not real anymore."

Before he could scream, before he could resist, she reached out.

And ended him.

Not with hatred.

Not with fury.

But with obsession.

And a kiss.

His body dropped limp, crumpling to the marble floor of the Nexus' reception hall, steam still rising from the kiss—if it could even be called that. His head rolled a few inches from his body, eyes still wide, as if trying to process the impossible betrayal.

Chrona stood in silence for a moment.

Then she twitched.

A subtle, sharp motion.

Her pupils dilated unnaturally, and the shadows around her shifted, stretching along the floor like tendrils of ink. Her breath hitched, and she stared down at his corpse with a mix of pain, longing... and something else.

"He's doing it again," she muttered to no one.

"To think... he was recovering."

She knelt beside the severed head of the man she loved—loved more than fiction itself could define. She reached forward and gently brushed back his hair, despite the blood, the horror, the silence.

"It's okay," she whispered, softly rocking back and forth beside his corpse.

"I can fix you. Again."

She smiled wide. Too wide. Eyes unfocused.

"I know how to put you back together. You were almost perfect again. I just need to restart it. Reset everything. Rebuild you. Like last time. Like the time before that."

Her hand cradled his face, smeared with his blood. She leaned closer.

"You'll see. We'll be happy again. You'll forget the pain. You'll forget the questions. All that hurt—gone."

She closed her eyes.

"And this time... you'll stay mine."

Then she pressed her forehead to his, a dark ritual forming between them. The Nexus around her began to pulse—not like a heartbeat, but like the ticking of a broken clock trying to restart time that was never meant to be rewound.

"You don't have to remember, Peter," she whispered, voice honey-sweet and dead wrong. "I'll remember for you. I'll carry the burden."

She touched his forehead with two fingers.

A dark glyph ignited across his temple.

"Let me do the thinking. You just... feel."

Tears dripped from her eyes. Not sadness. Something twisted. Ecstasy blended with grief.

Her voice dropped to a breathless, adoring coo.

"Together forever. Like we promised. Like always. Just me... and my Peter."

Then she curled beside his body, humming softly—an eerie lullaby that echoed through the corrupted Nexus.

Reality around them bent, breaking like glass behind a painted wall.

And inside Peter's mind...

There was nothing.

No screams.

No pain.

Just blissful, quiet darkness.

But this wasn't the first time.

Not even close.

Peter had lived this dream a hundred times over.

With a hundred different endings.

Sometimes, Chrona didn't kill him.

Sometimes, she killed herself.

In one version, she slit her own throat in front of him, whispering "Now we're both broken."

In another, she burned the entire Nexus down with them inside it, laughing as the flames melted the walls of imagination itself.

There was one where Peter woke up alone every morning, searching endlessly through empty halls until he forgot what he was searching for—until she emerged from the shadows, eyes gleaming, asking "Did you miss me?"

Another time, they had a child.

A daughter made of star-code and stories.

But every time he held her, she dissolved in his arms like ash.

In one loop, Chrona locked him in a glass coffin, whispering sweet nothings while he watched the world rot outside.

Another time, Peter was the one corrupted from the start, and Chrona tried desperately to save him—until she gave up, sobbing, letting him consume her in a flash of voidfire.

Once, he tore his own skin off, trying to find the "real" version of himself underneath.

Another, the Nexus played the same perfect day over and over—Chrona's voice repeating, looping, "Wasn't today perfect, Peter? Wasn't today perfect, Peter? Wasn't today perfect..." until he screamed and clawed his ears off.

One time, Chrona didn't exist at all. She had never been real.

He was just in the Nexus alone, talking to memories he invented to keep from going mad.

And in another?

They got married.

They lived a full life.

They grew old.

They had peace.

But just before the end, he blinked—

And realized it was still the same dream.

Still a cage.

Still a lie.

No matter what shape the dream took—love, terror, domestic bliss, apocalypse—

It always ended the same.

With Peter broken.

With Chrona changed.

With everything twisted into something unrecognizable.

Every escape ended in another trap.

Every reset burned deeper into his mind.

And this time?

This time was no different.

Chrona cradled his corpse like a doll, whispering her promises to a man who couldn't hear her.

And then—

The dream ended.

Peter's eyes flew open—bloodshot, twitching.

He gasped like a drowning man surfacing for the first time in hours.

But there was no air.

Only cold.

And pressure.

And pain.

He couldn't move. His wrists and ankles were still bound by the same Darkenstine chains as before—shredding into his skin like hot barbed wire—but now, something new was slithering over his body. Wrapping around his chest. His neck. His face.

It pulsed. It breathed.

It grinned.

He looked down, trembling.

A black substance—oily, alive—moved across his skin like it owned him.

No.

Not just any black substance.

Symbiote.

His heart dropped.

It wasn't just a symbiote.

It was the Symbiote.

Venom.

Not the Eddie Brock one. Not even the "Lethal Protector" version he vaguely remembered from across different stories.

No—this one was deeper. Older. Twisted through dozens of timelines. A version of the alien that had bonded with him before, in another life. Another Peter. The kind of Peter who let go of control. Who let the rage fester. Who stopped pulling his punches.

Who stopped caring.

And now?

It was back.

Slithering over his chest like a parasite reunited with its first love.

He struggled, but the Darkenstine chains didn't budge. And the symbiote only got tighter, like it was comforting him.

From the shadows, a slow, mocking clap echoed across the lab.

Red Goblin stepped into the dim light, hands behind his back, smiling like a devil who just closed a deal.

"Welcome back, Peter," he said sweetly. "Or should I say... what's left of him."

Peter's breathing was ragged. His eyes burned with hatred—but there was no strength in his voice yet.

Red Goblin circled him like a vulture. "You look... different. Hollow-eyed. Haunted. But hey, no shame in a little bloodshot mania after that performance you gave."

He leaned closer.

"I mean damn, that ending? Whew. Chef's kiss. I think I even cried a little."

Peter growled, pulling against his bonds. But even the symbiote refused to help.

The Goblin tapped the side of Peter's head. "You don't remember her anymore, do you? Chrona. The Nexus. The waffles. The dreams. The screams."

He grinned wider. "Good. That means we're getting somewhere."

Peter didn't respond.

He couldn't.

His head throbbed—memories refusing to surface, like drowning stars beneath a black sea.

Red Goblin pulled away and spread his arms wide.

"You're perfect now. A blank slate. All that training, all that hope Adriel poured into you? Gone. Washed away in a nightmare of your own design."

He walked over to a nearby console and tapped something glowing in red script.

"Now," he said casually, "let's see how far a Guardian can fall."

He turned back toward Peter—but then paused.

Slowly... very slowly...

He turned toward the reader.

Toward the page.

Toward you.

His smile stretched unnaturally wide.

"Oh," he chuckled. "I see you. You've been watching this whole time, haven't you? Narrating. Guiding. Protecting him."

The scene twisted.

Reality bent.

Suddenly, the narration felt wrong.

The words staggered. The text glitched.

"Don't try to run," the Goblin said calmly, as if speaking directly to the voice behind the fourth wall. "I know your type. Omniscient, invisible, always trying to nudge the hero back on course."

A pause.

"But here's the thing... what happens when you lose control?"

From nowhere, a pulse hit the narrative itself—like static crashing through a radio frequency.

The Narrator spoke now, frantic.

"This isn't your place, Goblin. You don't belong here. Get back in the scene."

The Goblin didn't even blink.

He leaned closer, whispering past the veil.

"Get. Out."

The Red Goblin sneered. "Touchy."

Another flicker—text distorting, paragraphs spiraling out of alignment.

"I said GET OUT—"

Red Goblin moved his hand—and ripped the narration apart.

Lines of exposition screamed and broke. Words exploded into pixels. The unseen voice—the one who had been telling the story—stuttered, choked, and fell silent.

Gone.

Replaced.

The page stilled.

And then...

Red Goblin straightened his posture and cleared his throat with a theatrical hum.

"Testing, testing... one, two—oh, this is rich."

He turned back to Peter.

Still bound.

Still corrupted.

Still silent.

"Now," the Goblin said as he cracked his neck, "let's run an experiment."

He grinned as red data flashed around him—lines of code, alternate timelines, countless fictions.

"We drop you," he said, pointing at Peter, "into a precious little reality. A world of light. Of hope. Star Guardians, I believe it's called?"

He paced like a playwright mid-soliloquy.

"And then we watch. What happens when a broken, corrupted Spider-Man—stripped of memory, bound to Venom—gets dropped into their colorful paradise?"

He turned, eyes gleaming.

"Will he destroy it?"

"Will he save it?"

"Will he become their worst nightmare or their tragic redemption arc?"

A beat.

He chuckled.

"Doesn't matter."

The world behind him began flickering, showing glimpses of the bright Star Guardian universe—pop stars, light magic, friendships. Everything pure.

A perfect contrast.

Fuel.

"Whatever happens," Red Goblin whispered to the reader, to the story, to the dream, "it'll be entertaining. And that's all I need."

He waved his hand, setting the corrupted Peter into motion—ready for transport.

"For every hope twisted, for every dream shattered... I grow stronger. The audience doesn't even realize... their negative energy feeds me."

And finally, he leaned back, content.

"After all," he said with a smirk.

"I'm the Goblin. And I don't play fair."

He stepped toward the edge of the chamber, where the dark rift of warped space churned like a bleeding wound. With a flick of his clawed hand, reality rippled—not with chaos, but with intention.

This wasn't just dimensional travel.

This was cosmic intrusion.

He didn't summon another Peter.

He didn't need to.

There was only one.

A Guardian—one-of-one, forged outside the chains of fiction. A living paradox, unbound by the usual rules of narrative multiplicity. There were no variants of Peter Parker the Guardian—only layers where he intervened, protected, saved.

And now?

He would infect.

The Red Goblin spun his hand slowly, dark ether crackling around his fingers. The multiverse began to bloom before him—not like a flower, but like a cancerous network of roots stretching across all of fiction.

Every world twisted and hovered, exposed like organs during surgery.

He searched—not for a version of Peter...

...but for a story weak enough to break.

A reality saturated in glitter and saccharine heroism.

A tale that believed itself immune to tragedy.

The Star Guardian universe.

He grinned when he found it.

Not because it was ideal.

But because it was fragile.

He reached out—not pulling anything toward himself, but instead, pushing Peter outward. Warping time. Twisting causality. Tearing narrative logic at the seams.

Peter's body—still bound, still dripping with the symbiote that warped and whispered—floated above the table. Tendrils of void energy wrapped around him like strings to a marionette.

"You are still you," Red Goblin muttered with delight. "But not the you that remembers."

He extended his hand toward the swirling hyper-thread of the Star Guardian world.

The entire universe condensed into a fragile, translucent sphere—hovering just above a dark obsidian pedestal.

Red Goblin leaned forward and shoved Peter in.

Reality buckled.

The air screamed.

The hyper-sphere rippled and accepted its infection.

Peter didn't vanish. He re-entered fiction—not as a variant, not as a visitor, but as a corrupted contradiction. The one and only Guardian—rewritten, fragmented, still himself, but not whole.

The sphere closed.

Locked.

Hovering above the console like a sacred artifact—or a loaded weapon.

Red Goblin walked up to it, placed his clawed fingers gently beneath it as it rotated in slow, ominous circles.

He didn't speak for a long time.

He just stared.

Watching.

Anticipating.

And then, to no one but the shadows—perhaps to the corpse of the narrator, perhaps to the audience he believed still lingered—he whispered:

"...What will Peter do when he has the black suit?"

He smirked.

Then laughed.

Not maniacally.

Not even loudly.

But with the quiet certainty of a man who just watched a rival kingdom fall.

He stepped back into the darkness of the chamber, leaving the floating sphere alone on its pedestal.

"Let's see what happens," he said.

"To the story that thought it could never be corrupted."

Valoran City — Early Morning

The city was still asleep.

Neon lights dimmed to a hum. Holograms flickered above half-lit billboards. Rooftop gardens swayed gently beneath the breeze of synthetic wind, casting faint glows through the haze of mist rising from the lower alleys. Somewhere in the distance, the sky pulsed with the last remnants of yesterday's starlight.

And then—without sound, without warning—he appeared.

No flare. No crash. No thunder of warped reality like a portal opening. One moment, the rooftop was empty.

The next, it wasn't.

A figure stumbled forward, as if pushed through an unseen threshold. He landed hard on one knee, choking.

Peter Parker gasped like a man ripped from drowning.

He clawed at his throat, heaving violently, lungs convulsing in dry desperation. No air had touched them in what felt like eternity. His fingers dug into the concrete beneath him, eyes wide, bloodshot, unfocused. For a moment, he couldn't even process that he was breathing again. The act felt foreign.

Like he wasn't supposed to.

He coughed. Once. Twice. Then his hands trembled, palms flat against the rooftop surface, bracing himself like a soldier crawling out of a battlefield trench. His whole body shook. The concrete around him grew wet from sweat. Each breath came with a grunt, the kind you let out when your body wants to give up and your soul hasn't decided yet.

But then instinct kicked in.

His head jerked up.

Eyes scanned the horizon—rooftops, towers, magical billboards, the faint aurora dancing above the spires of Valoran High—his brain snapped into analytical mode without him asking. He moved like someone who had done this before. Many times. Dropped into unfamiliar places. Dropped into unfamiliar stories.

But this time...

Something felt wrong.

He tried to remember. To recall names. Allies. Faces.

Nothing.

Every time his mind reached back, it hit a wall of static. People he knew were important—blurred. Their voices, gone. Their smiles, untraceable. Their identities, fogged out like someone had poured bleach over photographs in his mind.

He grimaced and grabbed his temple.

White-hot pain lanced through his skull.

A migraine. Sudden and cruel. As if something in his brain was actively denying him access.

He could remember his training. His powers. His battles. The Iron Spider suit—every circuit, every upgrade, every maneuver he ever practiced with it.

But he couldn't remember who gave it to him.

He couldn't remember why he had it.

Or who stood by his side the last time he fought.

He winced. The pain receded, slightly. Enough to let him move again.

Then he looked down.

His clothes were jet black.

Simple. Practical. Form-fitting. Shirt. Pants. Gloves.

But as he moved, the fabric... shifted.

He narrowed his eyes and pinched the sleeve between two fingers. It moved with him—but not like cloth. It pulsed. It responded.

He pulled the collar slightly and caught sight of it. Black.

Organic.

Alive.

The realization clicked.

"Symbiote," he muttered. Not shocked. Not afraid. Like remembering an old friend's name.

And then another memory surfaced. One he didn't know was implanted.

This is your new Iron Spider suit. A symbiote. You fused it together. You made it better. Ten times stronger. Ten times faster.

It felt real.

It wasn't.

But he had no way of knowing.

"Right," he whispered, nodding to himself. "We've... we've worked well together before. I remember."

He didn't.

But he wanted to believe he did.

The symbiote coiled tighter, then relaxed, like it acknowledged the trust. Like it approved.

Peter exhaled, the last shivers leaving his body. His stance straightened. His fingers flexed, testing response time. Strength levels.

The numbers clicked in his head. Multiversal baseline. Boosted by at least tenfold. Maybe Hyperversal. Minimum.

Acceptable.

Then came the second wave of knowledge—passive, quiet, sliding into his mind like a whisper.

This place. This world.

A city of stars.

Starlight magic. Contract-bound guardians. A high school that masks an interdimensional order of warriors chosen by a cosmic force called the First Star.

Star Guardians.

He processed it. All of it. Like a live Wikipedia page unfolding in his head. Current location: Valoran City. Story point: Unknown.

He frowned. That part was bugged.

He should be able to see exactly when he arrived.

But the data glitched.

Time markers blurred. Names flickered in and out. The symbiote stirred as if it, too, was experiencing static.

He sighed and looked up.

Clouds drifted. Dawn crept over the horizon. Lights flickered to life in distant windows. The world was waking up.

He stood quietly on the rooftop, watching.

He didn't know who he was supposed to be.

But he remembered one thing:

He was still Peter Parker.

That had to count for something.

So he turned.

And walked into the heart of the city.

Unaware of the chaos he'd bring.

Unaware of who would find him.

Unaware of what was watching from just beyond the stars... waiting for the cracks to deepen.

Valoran City buzzed below like a living circuit board. Lights shimmered across buildings in rhythm with music pulsing from open shop doors, and the glow of digital signs painted streaks of neon across the wet pavement. The city was alive with summer night energy—people bustling in and out of food courts, holograms floating in advertisement loops, and young students enjoying a break from school.

And yet, on a rooftop above it all, Peter Parker stood completely still.

He had been there for minutes. Maybe longer. Just... breathing.

The symbiote pulsed once beneath his skin. A calm, steady ripple like a heartbeat. Peter clenched and unclenched his fists, testing the weight of his body, of his presence. His memories were a maze—fogged corridors, locked doors. Faces blurred out. Names forgotten. But instincts? Those were intact. Tactical awareness, agility, muscle memory. All perfectly preserved.

So he used them.

He leapt down from the rooftop in silence, landing without a sound.

From there, he wandered.

He mapped out Valoran City block by block. The skyline. The layout of the parks. Side alleys. Entry points. Escape routes. Busy intersections. Security drones. Civilian patterns. All of it carved into his mind like he was prepping for a mission that hadn't yet begun.

Eventually, Peter stopped at a glass display.

His head tilted slightly.

Inside, under warm lights and behind polished glass, rested rows of pastries, tarts, fruit-stuffed buns, and delicate cakes layered with cream and sugar.

The bakery glowed like a haven in the city's soft chaos.

Above the door, a holographic sign pulsed:

"Targon Pastry Co. — Where Even a God Kneels for Cake."

Peter smirked at the slogan.

Then he noticed who was behind the counter.

Pantheon.

Or at least, someone who looked exactly like him—minus the glowing armor, giant spear, and brooding aura. No, this Pantheon wore a white apron, flour-stained forearms, and a rolled-up headband. His demeanor was relaxed, even cheerful.

Peter furrowed his brow.

"Huh. Well, sure. Why not," he muttered, and stepped inside.

A chime above the door rang out. The smell of sugar, cinnamon, and toasted vanilla greeted him like a warm handshake.

Pantheon looked up, already wiping his hands on his apron. "Welcome! Don't think I've seen you before. First time in Valoran City?"

Peter kept his eyes on the overhead menu. He barely glanced up. "Something like that."

Pantheon gave a small nod, eyes scanning Peter's all-black outfit, messy hair, and pale expression. He looked like an edgy fashion model who hadn't slept in a few days—which wasn't entirely wrong.

"What would you recommend?" Peter asked, keeping his voice casual.

Pantheon paused for a moment, then tapped the display case. "You look like the kind of guy who could use something... grounding. Chocolate ganache layer cake. No frills. Heavy, sweet, satisfying. Doesn't mess around."

Peter finally looked at him. "Sounds perfect."

Pantheon turned to prepare the slice, leaving Peter to his thoughts.

That's when the bell rang again.

Peter glanced sideways.

A girl entered, talking softly with the familiar beside her. Staff in hand, pink hair pulled into a high ponytail, eyes bright despite her cautious steps.

Lux.

Something clicked in Peter's brain. A flash of recognition. Not memory—not exactly. But a sense. A connection.

She looked younger here. Less sure of herself. But there was a warmth about her, a presence that lit up the room more than the starry decals on her outfit. She carried herself like someone trying hard to live up to something greater.

And Peter found himself thinking: Cute. Very cute.

He immediately shook that thought away. The symbiote pulsed.

But Lux had already noticed him. Her eyes lingered not on his face, but on the cake Pantheon slid onto the counter.

"Oh! That's my favorite," she said, smiling. "Chocolate ganache layer cake. It's kind of unbeatable."

Peter raised a brow. "Huh. Then I guess I've got good taste."

She laughed a little. "Or good instincts. Either way, solid choice."

Peter didn't know what possessed him, but he nodded to the stool beside his. "You want to sit? We could compare notes on frosting."

Lux blinked, surprised. Then shrugged and walked over. "Sure. Why not?"

"I'll pay for your cake," Peter offered.

Lux wasn't going to reject free food, so she let him.

Pantheon placed her slice on the counter with practiced grace, then retreated to the kitchen. Peter and Lux sat in companionable silence for a few seconds, the city light filtering in from the window.

Peter glanced sideways again.

She wasn't just cute.

She felt familiar.

But the migraine didn't come this time.

The suit was quiet. Watching.

For now, Peter just wanted to sit. Eat cake. Figure out who this girl was. Who he was. And why something inside him already whispered that she might be important.

Lux stole another glance at him as she picked at the edge of her cake. Something about him pulled at her—like a whisper she couldn't hear, but felt. She didn't understand it, didn't like not understanding it, but… she also didn't want to leave.

"So," she said, stirring her fork through the frosting, "I haven't seen you around before. You new to Valoran City or just visiting?"

Peter leaned back slightly, letting the question hang for a second. "Something like that," he said, his tone casual, smooth. Controlled. "I guess you could say I'm figuring things out. Getting a lay of the land."

Lux raised an eyebrow. "Mysterious type, huh?"

He gave a half-shrug, biting into his cake. "Only when I don't have all the answers."

She smiled, amused. "Okay then, what answers do you have? Name? What brought you here? Favorite frosting?"

Peter smirked. "Name's Peter. And I came here for the cake. Obviously."

She laughed again, light and genuine. "Obviously. Can't argue with that. I'm Lux, by the way."

He nodded. "Nice to meet you, Lux."

Something in his tone made her pause. It wasn't just the way he said her name—it was like he already knew it. Or like it meant something. But she shook the thought off.

"Well, Peter, welcome to the best bakery in the city," she said, gesturing grandly at Pantheon's pastry shop. "You picked a good place to start."

Peter glanced around. "Yeah. I noticed. Place has a good vibe."

Lux tilted her head. "You sound like you've done this before. Showing up in a new place and figuring it out."

Peter looked down at his fork, twisting it slowly in his fingers. "Maybe I have. Feels like muscle memory."

Lux blinked. "That… actually makes sense."

There was a pause. Not awkward—just thoughtful. She couldn't explain it, but sitting here felt… right. Like she wasn't wasting time. Like this was where she was meant to be in that moment.

"You ever get that feeling?" she asked. "Like you're doing something totally random, but it ends up being really important somehow?"

Peter gave a short breath of a laugh. "Yeah. More than once."

Lux looked at him again. "It's weird. You don't feel like a stranger. Not really."

Peter tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. "Maybe that's a good thing."

She flushed a bit and turned back to her cake. "Yeah. Maybe."

He didn't press. He didn't need to. The Guardian Aura was doing what it always did—subtly pulling people toward him, making them feel safe, seen, understood. Lux had no idea what was happening, only that she wanted to keep talking to him.

"So, do you do anything? Like, for work or school or…?" she tried.

Peter shrugged. "I'm… kind of between things. Freelance life, I guess."

She grinned. "You say that like you fight monsters in your spare time."

Peter's smirk barely twitched. "You'd be surprised."

Lux laughed again. There was a brightness in her that Peter found oddly comforting—and terrifying. He didn't want to care. He didn't want to feel… anything. But she made it too easy.

"Well, if you ever need a tour guide, I know this city pretty well," she said. "Just don't go wandering into the alleys on third street. Unless you like weird graffiti and stray starlight bugs."

"Noted," Peter replied. "No third street. Got it."

"I don't usually do this," she said suddenly.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Eat cake?"

She rolled her eyes playfully. "No. Sit and talk with complete strangers who might be lost tourists or rogue cake thieves."

"Hey," Peter leaned back slightly, letting the corner of his mouth tug upward, "I paid for the cake. That makes me at least ninety percent innocent."

Lux giggled. "I'll give you seventy. You've got that whole... mysterious loner thing going. All black clothes. A little too clean for someone who just showed up out of nowhere."

"Maybe I'm just good at hiding the mess," Peter said, voice light, but eyes steady.

Lux caught that, just for a second. The way he said it. Like there was more behind it.

But then she shrugged, brushing it off. "Fair. We've all got our messes."

Peter didn't respond. He didn't need to. The silence let her keep going, just like he hoped.

"I guess I've just been… restless lately," she said, picking at the edge of her plate. "There's been a lot going on. School, obligations, you know. Big picture stuff. It's nice to have a moment where none of that matters. Just cake. And a stranger who doesn't seem like he's about to ask me for homework answers."

"I wouldn't say no to cheat codes for surviving here," Peter said, watching her.

"Mmm, first rule? Don't trust smiling squirrels. They're usually up to something."

"Terrifying."

"Second rule? If you hear a boom and pink glitter falls from the sky? Just run."

Peter blinked. "Noted. Any chance I get a third rule, or is that locked behind a loyalty tier?"

Lux laughed, leaning forward a little. "Okay, fine. Third rule? Try not to get too attached to anything. Things… change fast around here."

There was a flicker of something in her tone. Sadness, maybe. Regret.

Peter tilted his head. "You sound like you've had to let go of a lot."

Lux hesitated. "Yeah. I have."

And then, as if that little reveal cracked something open, she just kept going.

"It's weird. I don't talk about this kind of stuff with people. Not unless I've known them forever. But with you it's like—"

"Like we've met before," Peter finished.

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Exactly. That's crazy, right?"

"Not the craziest thing I've heard."

Peter let her talk. Every word was another puzzle piece falling into place. Her team. Her past. Her patterns. He didn't even have to ask. The Guardian Aura pulled the vulnerability to the surface, like a moth to a lamp.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm trying too hard to be someone I'm not," Lux said quietly. "Like I'm supposed to be this beacon of hope or whatever. But what if I'm just… me? Just someone who likes cake and sunsets and reading way too many romance novels?"

Peter pretended to ponder that. "I'd say being someone who likes cake and sunsets is a pretty solid foundation."

She gave him a crooked smile. "You're not bad at this."

"What? Talking? Or eating cake?"

"Both. But mostly the talking part."

Peter leaned back in his chair, eyes on her. "Then tell me more. About you. What's your favorite place in the city? Favorite holiday? Weirdest dream you've ever had?"

She tilted her head, amused. "You ask good questions."

"I've got a lot of practice pretending I'm normal."

She snorted. "Okay. Let's see. Favorite place? There's this rooftop observatory just outside campus. Not many people go there. You can see the whole skyline. Feels like flying."

Peter nodded slowly. "I'll have to check it out."

"Favorite holiday? Mmm… I like Starlight Day. Everyone dresses up in pastels, and there's music in the streets. It's corny, but kind of perfect."

"Noted. Avoid third street and pastel parties. Got it."

She rolled her eyes. "Weirdest dream? I once dreamed that cupcakes took over the school. Violent, frosting-covered rebellion. They had knives."

Peter chuckled. "Sounds delicious and horrifying."

"Exactly! I was conflicted the whole time."

Another beat of laughter passed between them.

Then she said, more softly, "I'm glad I sat down. I almost didn't."

Peter met her eyes. "Me too."

She smiled faintly at his response, but just as she opened her mouth to speak again, her bracelet pulsed.

Lux flinched.

A holographic glimmer flared against her wrist, followed by a shrill digital ringtone.

"Oh no," she muttered under her breath, glancing down to see Jinx's name blinking in bright pink text.

She tapped to answer.

The voice on the other end was unmistakable.

"Lux! Where the hell are you?! You were supposed to meet me, like, forever ago! I've been waiting by the arcade like a total loser while you're off flirting with tall-dark-and-broody or whatever!"

Peter arched a brow, clearly hearing every word. A smirk crept up his face as Lux turned various shades of red.

"Jinx! I'm—I'm not—! I was just—!" she stammered, trying to angle her wrist away to muffle the call. "I got sidetracked, okay?! I'll be there in a minute!"

"You better! And bring snacks! I swear, if you show up empty-handed—"

Lux didn't wait to hear the rest. She hung up with a flustered sigh and slowly lowered her arm.

Peter was still smirking.

"So," he said, his tone light, teasing. "Tall-dark-and-broody, huh?"

Lux groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Oh my stars. I am going to strangle her. With her own pigtails."

"I don't mind the nickname," Peter added casually. "Could be worse."

Lux peeked between her fingers, eyes wide. "This is officially the most embarrassing moment of my life."

"It's not so bad," Peter said. "You've got a good friend. Keeps you on your toes."

She stood up quickly, flustered beyond recovery. "I—I should go. Before she starts threatening the entire pastry shop. You know, friend things."

Peter nodded, leaning back slightly. "Understandable. Don't want cupcakes with knives coming after you again."

That earned a small laugh, even as she began to take a step away.

"Hey," he said, stopping her just before she turned.

She looked back.

"Before you go... Can I get your number?"

He didn't say it with a smirk this time. It came out smoother than he intended. More charming. Almost flirtatious. The kind of delivery that was automatic now.

Lux blinked.

And blinked again.

Her mind short-circuited for a beat.

Then she fumbled for her phone, cheeks glowing. "Uh, sure. Yeah. I mean—why not? Right? We already talked about cake. Next step is clearly texting about frosting."

Peter chuckled as their phones pinged with exchanged contacts.

"See you around, Lux."

"Y-Yeah. See you, Peter."

She turned and practically power-walked out of the bakery, muttering to herself the whole way.

What the hell was that?! What's wrong with me?! Why was that so easy?! He's just a guy! A guy with great hair and a mysterious vibe and—no! Focus!

She screamed internally.

Meanwhile, back at the table, Peter stared at her contact name glowing on his screen.

He didn't move for a moment.

Then the corner of his mouth curled.

Not a soft smile.

Not a sweet one.

An evil smirk.

Calculated.

Refined.

Charming enough to disarm, sharp enough to cut.

The symbiote pulsed once under his skin.

Peter leaned back in his seat, eyes still on the door Lux had left through.

She had no idea.

But she would.

Eventually.

...

Valoran City was alive.

Neon buzzed overhead, flashing against the wet pavement as Lux made her way through the crowded streets. Her heart was still racing. She didn't know why. Maybe it was the cake. Maybe it was him.

Peter.

She still didn't really know who he was. But she had given him her number. Willingly. Eagerly. That thought alone made her groan into her palms as she pushed through the sliding glass doors of the arcade.

The sound hit instantly—retro game jingles, the clack-clack of buttons, some random voice yelling "Headshot!" from a shooter machine in the back. And right in the middle of it all, perched atop a glowing dance machine, was Jinx.

Lux spotted her instantly, mostly because Jinx was practically upside-down and balancing on one hand like a manic cat. Her hair was everywhere, twin tails glowing faintly in the arcade lighting. Pixie boots kicked at the air.

"Took you long enough!" Jinx shouted across the room, flipping down to her feet. "You bring snacks or do I have to chew on the tokens again?"

"No snacks," Lux called back sheepishly, brushing stray pink strands out of her face. "You told me not to stop anywhere."

"Pfft," Jinx blew a raspberry, slouching dramatically. "Rookie mistake. You hung up on me! I was going to specifically tell you not to stop at the boring places. I would've forgiven you if you brought me a strawberry mochi or something sugary."

Lux laughed, adjusting her staff-turned-backpack strap. "You literally inhaled three candy bars last night."

"Exactly. I need four to balance the glucose deficiency!"

Lux opened her mouth to argue but stopped when she saw the look on Jinx's face. Mischief. Pure, weaponized mischief.

"What?"

Jinx tilted her head. "You think I didn't see you?"

Lux blinked. "Huh?"

"Pastry shop. You. And tall-dark-and-broody sitting real close at the counter like it was a romcom waiting to happen."

Lux turned crimson. "You were spying on me?!"

"No! I just happened to walk by with my boba—don't dodge the question!" Jinx leaned in like a detective pressing a suspect. "You were giggling. Giggle-giggling. With a boy. And I saw him. He was hot. I'll give you that. But talking to him for hours? What, are you dating now? Did I miss your wedding invite?"

"It wasn't hours!" Lux said, face turning pinker. "More like... one. Maybe two. I wasn't timing it!"

Jinx laughed and leaned back against the machine. "Lux, you were glowing. And not the magical Starlight way. Like in the 'I can't believe he said that, teehee' way. It was adorable. And disgusting. Mostly adorable."

"I don't even know why I talked to him that long," Lux admitted, flopping into a nearby beanbag chair. "It was just... natural. Like I had to talk to him. Like he made the whole city quiet for a second."

Jinx raised an eyebrow. "You got hit with the romcom sparkle effect. I knew it."

"Stop!" Lux wailed, burying her face in her hands. "It's not like that. It's not love at first sight. That's dumb."

"Suuuure," Jinx said, nudging her with her boot. "So, what's his deal? He's hot, he likes cake, and he managed to charm the pastel boots off you without even trying. What is he? Some kind of cake prince from another dimension?"

"I don't know!" Lux groaned. "He barely said anything about himself. It's like... he was letting me do all the talking."

Jinx blinked. "Wait. You rambled to a stranger for two hours and he listened?"

Lux sat up, realizing it. "Yeah. He just... listened. Like he was actually paying attention. And not in the weird way. Not even in a flirty way. Just... I don't know. Like I mattered."

Jinx stared at her for a second. "Okay. Now I'm curious."

"Don't be! It was probably just the sugar high!"

"Nope, too late," Jinx said, already pulling her phone out. "I'm hunting down Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Disarming. If he shows up again, I want to see this magic in action."

Lux flopped back on the beanbag again, covering her face with both hands.

"Why does this keep happening to me..."

Jinx cackled. "Because the universe is weird. And apparently, so are your taste buds. You better not have fallen for a cake thief."

Lux peeked out between her fingers. "He paid. And tipped."

"Okay, that's hot," Jinx admitted.

Lux groaned again.

But somewhere deep down, she wasn't dreading seeing him again.

She just didn't want Jinx to figure that out first.

"Wait—so it really wasn't a date?" Jinx asked, but her grin said she already knew the answer.

Lux lifted her head just enough to glare at her. "It wasn't! We just talked. Ate some cake. That's it."

Jinx flopped next to her on the beanbag with a dramatic sigh. "You talked to Hot Broody Guy and gave him your number. Lux, I've seen romcoms start with less."

Lux groaned. "Why are you like this?"

"Because someone has to be the agent of chaos while you're out here starring in your own accidental romance saga." Jinx's fingers started drumming on her leg. "Speaking of. You did give him your number, right?"

Lux didn't answer.

"Oh. My. Stars." Jinx sat up straight. "You totally did! Hand it over."

Lux tightened her grip on her phone like it was made of gold. "No way."

"C'mon! I just wanna see his name. Is it something mysterious? Or like... Peter 'Tallcake' or something?"

Lux rolled to the side. "Not telling."

"Oh, we're doing this the hard way then," Jinx said, already lunging across the beanbags.

"Jinx—!" Lux shrieked as she scrambled back, laughing through her panic.

But Jinx was faster. She tackled the phone out of Lux's hand mid-roll, landing like a cat with it in both hands. "Victory!"

"Traitor!" Lux reached for it, but Jinx held it above her head like a trophy.

"Let's see... oooh. Peter Parker. Basic name, broody energy. Classic." Her eyes flicked down to the contact photo. "Oh wow, he even looks like a villain in a coffee commercial. That jawline could cut glass."

Lux lunged again. "Give it back!"

"I'm just appreciating!" Jinx ducked behind the beanbag, dodging a kick. "Also, this contact photo is a Pantheon special, isn't it? He's got that angle that makes everyone look like a tragic hero."

"You're impossible."

"I'm curious!" Jinx tapped the screen, grinning. "Just gonna send it to myself real quick—"

"JINX."

"Too late!" She flashed her screen, already saving the contact. "Now I have a new meme victim."

Lux stared in betrayal. "You're the worst."

The door to the private arcade room creaked open and a startled-looking attendant poked his head in. "Uh… everything okay in here?"

Jinx popped up with a wave. "Just friendship crimes! All good."

Lux smiled awkwardly. "Totally fine. Sorry for the noise."

The attendant blinked, clearly unsure, then slowly closed the door again.

As it latched, Lux spun back around. "Jinx. I swear."

"What?" Jinx replied innocently. "Now I get to keep an eye on your new mysterious cake boy."

"You're not texting him!"

"I said nothing about now." Jinx gave her a wicked grin. "But the temptation's real."

Lux groaned again, slumping back into the beanbag. "What did I do to deserve this."

Jinx typed something into her phone. "'Broody Bae 💀🍰'. Perfect."

"Jinx!"

"What? It's accurate."

Lux grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at her. "Delete it."

"Nope." She caught it midair. "And you know you're gonna text him anyway."

Lux didn't respond.

Jinx leaned closer. "You are, aren't you?"

"…maybe."

"Ha! Doomed."

And with that, their bickering resumed, drowned out only by the flashing lights and the buzzing glow of the arcade—two friends tangled in a chaos only they could create, and one new contact waiting silently in both of their phones, the ripple he'd created still spreading outward through the night.

An hour later...

The apartment door slammed open with a bang, followed by the unmistakable cackle of a certain chaos gremlin.

"We're back!" Jinx announced, practically leaping into the entryway like she was making a WWE debut. Her twin tails bounced behind her as she skidded to a halt on her socks.

Lux trudged in right after her, visibly exhausted—not from the walk, but from trying to keep her phone safe for the last twenty minutes. "Could you not yell for once?" she muttered, rubbing her temples.

"Sorry, what was that?" Jinx cupped her hand to her ear, grinning wickedly. "You'll have to speak up. I'm still reeling from the fact you gave your number to your mysterious cake date—"

"It wasn't a date!" Lux practically hissed.

Too late.

"I KNEW IT!" Poppy's voice exploded from the kitchen.

There was a clang as the Guardian of the Hammer barreled into the hallway, dish towel over one shoulder, her hammer somehow already in hand despite it being dinnertime. "You do have a secret boyfriend! I knew something was up. You were walking funny—like, weird floaty happy. That's dating behavior. That's the behavior of someone who's smitten. Admit it!"

Lux looked like her soul was about to eject from her body. "I wasn't walking funny!"

"I noticed the float too," Janna added gently, appearing in the hallway like mist from the walls themselves. Her calm, graceful aura filled the space without effort. "There was a… shift in your rhythm. Like your spirit had lightened, if only a little."

Lux gave her an incredulous look. "Not you too!"

Janna smiled serenely. "The heart is a mysterious compass, Lux. Sometimes it finds a path long before the mind understands the direction."

"Oh my stars, not the poetry again," Jinx said, slumping dramatically against the wall.

"Secret boyfriend?!" Lulu suddenly shouted from somewhere on the ceiling.

Everyone looked up.

Sure enough, Lulu was hanging upside down from the top bunk in the shared room's doorway, Pix flitting beside her like a sparkly squirrel. Her hair flowed downward like a curtain as she gasped theatrically. "Luuuuux! You didn't tell me you were in a storybook romance! Is he sparkly? Did he give you a shiny rock?!"

"What—No!" Lux sputtered. "There's no sparkle! No rock! No storybook! It's just—cake!"

"That's the most romantic dessert!" Lulu chirped.

"Exactly!" Jinx jumped in again. "Two people sharing cake, cozy little bakery, eye contact, awkward flirting—next stop: intergalactic wedding."

"Stop it!" Lux looked like she was melting. "We just talked! He was nice! That's it!"

Poppy squinted at her, arms crossed. "Nice how? Like 'I won't rob you' nice or 'I'll carry you into battle' nice?"

Jinx tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I'd say... 'brooding-but-surprisingly-soft' nice. Real 'wounded prince with a hidden heart of gold' vibes."

"That sounds suspicious," Poppy said firmly, hammer still ready. "Where's he from? Has he been vetted? Did he fill out the friend application?"

"There's a friend application?!" Lux cried.

"There should be," Poppy muttered.

Lulu flipped upright, landing with a soft pomf on a beanbag. "Oooooh! What if he's from a different star system? Maybe he's a space traveler who fell through a cosmic cookie portal!"

Janna looked to Lux again, tilting her head with that sage softness she always carried. "What does your heart tell you?"

Lux hesitated. Her face warmed again. "...I don't know. That he's... different. But not bad. Just... like he doesn't belong, but isn't here to hurt anyone."

Everyone went quiet for a beat.

Then Poppy grunted. "Alright. Fine. But if he turns out to be evil, I'm hitting him with the hammer."

"I second this plan," Jinx said with a grin. "But only after I text him memes."

"You what—?!"

"Nothing!" Jinx zipped off to the couch, kicking her boots off and pulling up her phone.

Lux groaned into her hands again, mumbling something about needing to lie down and possibly hide under the fridge.

The chaos settled… sort of.

But as Lux slipped away to her room—heart still drumming for reasons she didn't quite understand—Janna lingered by the window. She looked out toward the lights of Valoran City, her expression unreadable.

And just for a moment, her eyes flicked toward the stars.

Something pulled at her senses. A disturbance—not loud, but deep. Like a ripple in still water before the wave reached shore. She narrowed her gaze slightly, lips parting as if to speak, but no words came.

Not yet.

She turned from the window and disappeared quietly into the halls, her long robes whispering against the floor like wind through leaves.

Meanwhile, down the hall, Lux shut the door to her room and slumped against it with a sigh that carried the weight of ten different emotions she couldn't name. Her staff clattered softly in the corner, long forgotten as she crossed to the window and rested her arms on the sill.

Outside, Valoran City pulsed with its usual neon heartbeat—hovercars sliding past in the sky lanes, signs flickering with late-night ads, pedestrians wrapped in scarves and star-chatter walking the sidewalks.

But Lux wasn't focused on any of that.

Her eyes lifted to the sky.

And stayed there.

The stars looked especially clear tonight. Brighter. Like someone had polished them just for her. She counted them, like she used to when she was little. She didn't know why. Maybe to feel small. Maybe to feel held.

"What was today…?" she whispered, hugging her arms close.

It had started so normal.

Wake up. Patrol. Listen to Jinx rant about sugar. Homework she forgot was due.

Then came him.

Peter.

It didn't make sense. People didn't just walk into her life and… stick. Not like that. Not like he did. The way he talked. The way he didn't talk. The way she talked, as if her mouth had a mind of its own. And the strangest part?

She hadn't wanted it to stop.

"I gave him my number," she murmured, as if confessing to the stars. "What is wrong with me…"

And yet… she didn't regret it.

He made her laugh. Made her think. Made her feel. It wasn't even about romance, not exactly. It was like a gravity. A pull she couldn't explain. Her whole world shifted the second he appeared at that pastry shop—and not just hers.

Jinx had picked up on it instantly. Then the rest of the team. The whole afternoon became a running gag about her "secret boyfriend," even though it wasn't like that.

Except… maybe it could be. If she let it.

Lux shook her head quickly, face hot.

"Ugh. Snap out of it."

She leaned her forehead against the glass and stared up again. The stars blinked back in silent rhythm, and for once, they didn't offer their usual comfort.

They felt… expectant. Watching.

Or maybe she was just reading into things.

She let out a long sigh and backed away from the window, drawing the curtains shut with a tired sweep. She crawled into bed, dragging the blankets up to her chin. Pix fluttered in a slow, lazy circle before curling up on her pillow beside her.

"You're lucky you don't have to deal with feelings," she mumbled to the tiny creature.

Pix let out a soft coo, as if disagreeing.

Lux closed her eyes.

And somewhere outside, high above Valoran's glow, a single star began to dim.

It pulsed once—twice—before flickering out entirely, swallowed by a darkness that moved unnaturally slow. Like something ancient. Watching. Creeping from beyond the veil of starlight.

But Lux was already asleep.

And dreaming of cake, and smiles, and eyes darker than they should've been.

To Be Continued...