"Stars burn alone in the void, yet together, they paint the sky."
The Herrscher of the Void had fallen. The battle was over, but for Orion Astra, a new journey had just begun—one he would walk alone.
...
The winds carried him to the Mu Continent, the closest place that resembled his original home. He brought nothing along just himself and the vast world ahead.
His first destination? The ocean.
Water, the lifeblood of the world, has nourished creatures, carved mountains and shaped landscapes.
Standing at the edge of a towering cliff, Orion took a deep breath. The scent of salt and freedom filled his lungs. Then, without hesitation, he leapt.
He entered the ocean with a splash using his powers his body began to change into a more aquatic form as he swam deeper into the sea.
The golden sun shimmered across the ocean's rippling surface, its light dancing like scattered diamonds upon a vast, endless blue. Below, the crashing waves lay a world teeming with life.
The ocean is home to much of the life on Earth. From the shallows to the deep there lay many creatures that call the ocean its home.
Schools of silver fish twisted and turned, their scales flashing like tiny stars in an aquatic cosmos. Orion admired them as they swam past him.
He kept swimming deeper and deeper into the ocean.
Soon he could feel the heat from the Earth's molten veins pulsed through the rock, sending ghostly ribbons of warmth through the abyss. It was a realm untouched by humans, where life still founds its way to thrive.
As the last sliver of sunlight vanished above him, Orion found himself in a void of endless darkness.
All sounds disappeared, and Orion felt an odd tranquility amidst the silence of the deep ocean.
There, in the silence, Orion let himself think.
On Jarilo-VI, Orion fought not for glory, not for ambition, but because he had sworn to. Three long years of duty, of sacrifice, of standing at the edge of a city that had known only ice and war.
He remembered them all—the soldiers who stood beside him atop the frostbitten walls, their names carved into his heart like battle scars. He had walked the streets of Belobog the he helped rebuilt.
He had stood before the people of Belobog, his voice carrying through the frozen air, igniting something long buried beneath years of hardship. Hope. He had seen it bloom in their faces, in the way they clung to his words like lifelines.
But what is there here in this world? Was it as beutiful as elysia had told?
Unlike Jarilo-VI he had not yet found a reason to fight for this world.
Swimming out of the ocean depths water he made his way toward a beach.
On land without hesitation, he picked a direction and began to walk.
Towering steel and glass loomed ahead, a coastal city shimmering in the dark. Its streets hummed with life, voices weaving together in a song of industry and ambition. The scent of salt still clung to the air, mingling with the aroma of fresh bread from a nearby bakery, the distant murmur of music spilling from open windows.
But Orion did not linger.
He moved beyond the city's borders, where the roads narrowed, the buildings shrank, and the sky seemed to stretch wider. He passed through small towns, their cobbled streets lined with wooden houses and quiet whispers of simpler days. The kind of places where time moved slower, where people greeted each other by name, and where every stranger was noticed.
Further still, he found himself among abandoned villages, places where only the wind remembered the laughter that once filled empty homes. Shattered windows and crumbling walls stood as silent testaments to lives that had long since moved on. The world had forgotten them, but the earth never did—roots twisted through broken stone, vines creeping over fallen doors, as if nature itself sought to reclaim what was lost.
And then—the jungle.
A world untouched, where the trees stood like ancient sentinels, their emerald canopies swallowing the light, letting only fractured beams kiss the forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, the hum of unseen creatures filling the silence. Here, the path was not paved by men but by time itself.
Still, Orion walked.
From skyscrapers to ruins, from civilization to wilderness, he wandered. Not searching, not escaping—just moving forward.
When Orion finally returned to himself, he realized he was standing at the peak of a mountain.
The wind howled, biting against his skin yet, he welcomed it. The cold didn't matter—not here. Not when he stood above the world, where the air was thin and the sky stretched endlessly in every direction.
From this height, everything below seemed untouched, pure, eternal. The mountains folded into valleys, rivers carving silver lines through the land. The setting sun bathed it all in gold, complete the breathtaking scene.
Orion closed his eyes, letting the wind carry him back.
On Jarilo-VI, he had written poetry to give shape to his emotions. Words were his only resource at the border front, where supplies were scarce and survival was a battle of endurance. With every stroke of ink, his heart left its imprint on the paper.
He could see it.
Now, standing at the peak, Orion felt his mind empty, like a mirror.
His senses heightened created a world of black and white, colorful stars reflected around the land bellow him. He instinctively knew what those colors represented...
Emotion and memory.
Here, within the shifting glow of the colors, Orion saw distant scenes unfold.
He saw mothers laughing with their children, families gathered in warmth, their joy spreading like golden sunlight beneath the dawn's first glow. Their happiness flickered gently, fragile yet enduring, as if time itself had cradled these moments with careful hands.
But beyond the warmth, he saw shadows—sorrow etched into weary faces, anger simmering beneath unspoken words, grief for the fallen. These emotions crystallized into jagged shards of black ice, cold and unmoving, scattered across the currents of memory.
He could see it all.
Orion often wondered what Remembrance Aeon Fuli would see. How do THEY decide what is worthy of being preserved, and what was meant to fade into nothing?
Would the unchosen moments—the ones left in the dark, the quiet whispers between heartbeats—simply vanish, erased as if they had never mattered? Would the universe forget them, just because no one had deemed them important enough to keep?
Orion didn't know how THEY think, but it mattered little to him he had his own thoughts and will.
So he searched. For the moments that must remain, the fragments of existence that deserved to shine even through endless disaster. For something unchanging. Something eternal.
...
His past life lingers as a distant memory.
Meeting March 7th, Stelle, and the others, their laughter, is a memory.
Riding the Astral Express, chasing the endless stars, is a memory.
Standing alongside soldiers at the border, holding the line against the unknown, is a memory.
In this world, every interaction, every fleeting moment of connection—**the unspoken words, the shared smiles, the sparks of "chemical reactions" between souls—**becomes part of the vast tapestry of memory.
Beauty is a memory. Pain is a memory.
Every fragment of life, every joy and sorrow, is carved into the mind, leaving an imprint on the world long after the moment has passed.
"Fight for all that is beautiful in the world."
A phrase he once heard often in his favorite game.
He did not want to see war reduce cities to ruins or steal the light from once-vibrant lands.
He did not want to see human suffering, families torn apart, or futures erased before they could begin.
To prevent tragedy. To ensure more memories of joy than of grief. That was Orion's purpose.
He would seek, fight, and carve his will into the world.
No matter what the forces behind the scenes plotted, Orion would prove that, though fate may pull the strings, he alone would decide his story.
He didn't know how long he had been lost in thought, but as he exhaled, his breath curled into the cold air, stretching into the sky like a rainbow gliding through a waterfall.
On this radiant, towering peak, Orion took a step forward.