Tokyo had changed.
Aki felt it the moment he stepped off the train. The city's rhythm no longer matched the memory he carried. The people moved as they always had, but there was something in the air—a tension, or perhaps an anticipation.
Hoshikiri stood beside him, hidden beneath a scarf and coat. Even she seemed subdued, as if the celestial thread they followed weighed heavier here.
"This place remembers more than it should," she murmured.
Aki glanced at her. "You mean the people?"
"No," she said. "The city itself. The ground. The sky. The silence."
They walked through back alleys and quiet streets until they reached the old observatory. It had been abandoned for years, but tonight, it shimmered with a faint light that only those touched by the stars could see.
Inside, Aki saw symbols etched into the dust-covered floors—constellations twisted into messages, warnings, or maybe invitations.
"This is where it began," Hoshikiri said. "Long before you were born. Before the gods even noticed us."
Aki ran his fingers along the carvings. "What is it?"
"A gateway. To the City Beneath Starlight."
The moment she spoke the name, the floor trembled. The observatory roof split open, revealing a spiral staircase made of glass and light, descending into the void below.
Aki hesitated.
"Another trial?" he asked.
Hoshikiri shook her head. "No. This is memory. This is truth."
He took a breath and stepped downward.
As he descended, the staircase wrapped around constellations suspended in the dark—each one echoing with visions of the past. He saw glimpses of his mother, of gods in conflict, of the Star Maiden's sorrow.
At the bottom, the city opened around him: vast, ancient, glowing with a twilight that never faded. Spirits moved between crystal towers. Temples floated in midair. And at the heart of it all, a mirror.
Not a reflection of who he was.
But who he could become.