Since that night, the quiet cemetery no longer felt the same.
The place once inhabited only by the whispers of wind and shadowed memories now held the traces of gentle footsteps and tiny objects that seemed not to belong to the world of the dead. Each night, as the mist descended slowly like a silk curtain draping the earth, the black cat emerged from behind the gravestone shadows. Silently, it came bearing small offerings from the world beyond: scraps of food, fragments of metal, or toys found who knows where.
The cat came without a sound, yet always with something in its mouth. It placed it at Aya's feet, meowed softly, then sat as if to say, "Look, this is for you."
Aya, who once had no one but the shadow of herself, now awaited each night. The night when her little companion would come, bringing the outside world in its simplest and most sincere form.
"I still don't know your name," she said one night, gently stroking the cat's head, "but… you always come. And that's more than enough."
But there was one thing the cat could never bring, no matter how hard she tried: her own name.
The cat who could never speak longed for Aya to know who she truly was. She wasn't merely a black shadow that came and went each night. She had a name. She held a small hope that someone—at least one being in this world—would know she was more than just a shape.
Sometimes she brought objects that held traces of her past—a scrap of cloth from where she used to sleep, a piece of paper that once bore her name, even once a can lid faintly etched by human hands with letters resembling her name.
She placed it at Aya's feet with quiet hope, her eyes fixed and intense, as if to say, "Look. This... is me."
But Aya was not someone attuned to such subtle signs. She only offered a faint smile, then said,
"You're so clever. Always finding such strange little things. The outside world must be so full of life now…"
The cat lowered her head slowly. Not out of anger, but out of disappointment—disappointment in her own limits. The world was too quiet, and she was too silent. Aya, unaware of the sadness behind it all, kept gently stroking the cat's head. Even without knowing, without realizing… she was soothing a wound deeper than she could ever see.
One day, when the sky looked a little clearer than usual and the air carried the scent of rain held back, the cat had just finished filling her belly, licking the last bits of fish from her fur.
As usual, she was getting ready to return to the cemetery to meet her new friend. But after only ten minutes of walking, she stopped in her tracks when she passed a small antique shop tucked between two old buildings. The shop was dark, silent, and nearly invisible from the street—just a faded sign hanging crooked above the door, and windows coated in dust and peeling stickers.
There wasn't a single customer there that night—not even the shop owner was fully awake. He seemed to be asleep behind the counter, his head slumped over a pile of yellowed newspapers.
The cat moved closer, her eyes narrowing with sharp curiosity. The shop pulled at her, stirring something deeper than just interest.
She leapt softly onto the slightly open window and slipped in without a sound. The dim glow of the streetlamp filtered through the glass, casting light over piles of strange objects—broken clocks, ceramic dolls, old cameras, metal coins from who knows where.
But one object caught her attention right away. A thin, smooth rectangle, about the size of a human palm. Its surface gleamed like glass, and from within it pulsed a faint blue light—slow and steady, as if the thing was breathing on its own.
No buttons, no sound. Just a calm, blinking light, forming faint patterns beneath its dark surface. The glow reflected in the cat's eyes, holding her still. She didn't know what it was. But something about it felt alive, like it was calling to her—asking to be taken.
There was something different about that object. Maybe this was the right gift for Aya. She turned to glance at the shop owner, still fast asleep, snoring softly.
Without a second thought, she gently bit down on the edge of the object, pulled it from the wooden shelf, then leapt out the window in one swift motion. Her paws landed softly on the street, and within seconds, she was darting off toward the cemetery.
It didn't take long for the cat to reach the cemetery. She ran through quiet streets and narrow alleys, gripping the thin, faintly glowing blue object tightly in her mouth. A few times she slipped on the damp dirt roads, smearing a bit of mud on the thing—but she didn't care. What mattered was getting there fast.
In her heart, a quiet worry kept chasing her—what if the shop owner woke up? What if she was followed, or worse, lost the object? But no one came after her that night. The city stayed still. And as the cemetery fog began to brush against her paws, she knew—she'd made it.
Aya's face glowed softly under the moonlight. When she saw the cat emerge from the bushes, she drifted closer, welcoming her with a warm embrace that, though without a body, felt real to the heart.
"You came after all!" she whispered. "I thought you weren't showing up tonight. You're late, y'know…"
She stroked the cat's fur over and over, breathing in the scent of earth and dew still clinging to her small body. She didn't notice anything else—just felt happy that her little friend had come back.
But when her eyes finally glanced at the object hanging from the cat's mouth, her hand froze.
"Uh… what's that?" she asked softly.
The cat gently dropped the object onto the ground. Mud clung to its corners, but the blue light on its surface still pulsed slowly, mysteriously.
Aya stared at it in silence. Her eyes widened.
"It's… glowing?" she whispered, half in disbelief. "I've never seen anything like this. Back when I was alive… there was nothing like this."
Her hand hovered just above the object, but she hesitated. Her eyes stayed locked on the blue shimmer dancing across its surface.
"Is this from the world now? Or… from somewhere else?"
The cat let out a soft meow, then sat down with her tail curled neatly around her paws. She looked at Aya calmly, as if to say, "I don't know either, but I know it's something good."
The two of them stared at the object in silence, again and again, as if they couldn't believe something so small could shine so beautifully. Its blue glow pulsed slowly, like a breath—then suddenly began to quicken.
The light now flickered, almost frantically. As if it was responding to something they couldn't see. And then, the sky changed. A strange glow burst from behind the clouds, sweeping across the night sky right above the cemetery. It wasn't moonlight, it wasn't lightning—it was something far brighter, glowing with a bluish-white hue, pulsing slowly like the light from the small object… only much, much larger.
Aya was stunned. Her hand instinctively reached out to hold the cat, even though she knew her grasp would never be felt.
"What is that…?" she whispered.
The cat just stared at the sky, her ears tense. She could feel her fur standing on end, without knowing why.
And then, in a flash of light—a massive disc shot down from the sky. It landed silently in the distance, not far from the edge of the cemetery. Its shape was like frozen liquid metal, smooth and gleaming, with dim lights that flickered as it moved.
From underneath it, a slit opened. Two figures were lowered gently to the ground.
Aya and the cat froze, too stunned to move.
And as quickly as it had arrived, the disc shot back into the sky. In the blink of an eye, it was gone—leaving behind a trembling air and a silence more unsettling than before.
The small object the cat had brought now glowed brightly—like it had just welcomed the arrival of its true owner.
The silence was immediate. Aya and the cat still stood frozen. The light from the small object now pulsed gently, just enough to remind them that none of it had been a dream.
Minutes passed, then footsteps echoed nearby.
Two figures approached from where the disc had landed. Their silhouettes slowly emerged from the fog. Not like ordinary humans—the way they walked, the way their bodies moved—too calm, too precise.
"What am I even doing…?" she thought to herself. "I don't even have a body. I can't fight. They probably can't even see me."
But she stayed there, trembling—not from fear… but from not knowing what to hope for.
The footsteps drew closer. Their sound seemed to swallow the night itself. Then, their faces slowly came into view.
One was a man, his hair a messy shade of purplish blue, faintly glowing in the dark. His face looked calm but clearly confused. Beside him stood a woman with deep red hair, wearing clothes patterned in a strange design Aya had never seen in her life… or in her death.
They stopped just a few steps away from Aya and the cat.
The man scratched his head, then spoke with a tone of surprise:
"Erum við lentu vitlaust? Þetta... er ekki staðurinn sem við bjuggumst við. En hnitin eru skýr – nákvæmlega hér"
The woman beside him scanned the surroundings, her eyes sharp like a scanner.
"Nei, þetta er staðurinn. Hnitin passa hundrað prósent. Kerfið mitt greindi sterkt merki frá þessum punkti. Það getur ekki verið villa."
Aya and the cat could only exchange glances.
The strange words that just came from the mouths of those two strangers were completely incomprehensible to them. They sounded like broken echoes, mixed with clinking metal, and something almost like a whisper from a nightmare.
The cat glanced at Aya with questioning eyes. Aya returned the look with an expression just as confused—even as a ghost, this was beyond her experience.
The dark red-haired woman studied them both, her brow furrowing slightly. She activated something on her wrist—a small device that emitted a faint beep, then cast a thin ring of light around her head.
"Málkerfi staðbundið greint..." she said softly. Then muttered more clearly, "Local language detected. Initiating system adjustment... changing speech style."
Suddenly, her tone shifted. Not only softer, but now it sounded... understandable.
"Sorry," she said, glancing at Aya and the cat, "we realized you didn't understand our language before. We've adjusted it."
The man beside her, who had been standing squinting at the surroundings all this time, sighed in relief.
"Finally! I was feeling awkward about that conversation," he said casually, then bowed slightly. "Ahem... My name's Toru."
"And I'm Ruka," the woman added, introducing herself in a flat tone.
They both stared at Aya and the cat for a moment, then Toru scratched the back of his head again, a bit awkwardly.
"Really sorry about our sudden landing. We didn't mean to scare you. The coordinates pointed here, and our system... well, just brought us straight to this spot."
Aya stayed silent, trying to process it all. But now, at least, their voices no longer sounded like thunder trapped in a bottle. She looked at the cat, then back at the two strange newcomers before her.
"Who… are you really?" Aya asked softly.
Aya kept watching the two strangers with caution, while the cat sat close beside her, her tail beginning to flick up and down with unease. The light from the object they had brought earlier was now fading, leaving behind the silhouette of a sky slowly returning to its dark hue.
Toru opened his mouth, seemingly ready to explain.
"So, um… here's the thing—we actually—"
But his sentence was cut short. Ruka, who had been standing with a straight posture and an expressionless face, suddenly raised a hand.
"Let me be the one to explain," she said swiftly, glancing at Aya and the cat. "I don't think they'd understand if it came from you."
Toru chuckled nervously, scratching his head.
"Hehe… yeah, probably not."
Ruka gave a slight nod, then began speaking in a calmer, more measured tone.
"We come from another world. Not this one, not this galaxy, not even the same dimension. We are travelers—across space and time."
Aya furrowed her brows. The cat tilted her head, confused.
Ruka noticed their bewilderment and let out a quiet sigh, trying a different approach.
"Okay, if that's too complicated… just think of us as… Earth tourists."
Then, without changing her expression, Ruka added:
"We came to this planet to—conquer it and make it part of our outer colony."
The air turned tense in an instant.
Toru immediately choked on nothing but air.
"HEY! That's not how you say it!" he shouted in a panic, eyes wide. "Ruka, don't freak them out! We're not the bad guys!"
Ruka turned to him calmly.
"That statement is technically accurate, based on the mission's original purpose…"
"Oh no… please don't say 'technically' in front of strangers," Toru groaned, then turned to Aya and the cat, raising both hands in reassurance. "We're good people, really! We're just… exploring. Trying to make friends with creatures from other planets. That's all!"
The air grew even more awkward. Toru felt like he really needed to change the topic, so he started introducing himself and Ruka. He pointed to himself proudly.
"Listen up! My name's Toru. The alien explorer!" He pointed to the side with sparkling eyes. "And this is Ruka, a super advanced robot I built myself."
Aya stayed silent, her mouth slightly open, unsure whether to believe him or not.
The cat, on the other hand, immediately stood up with her fur bristling. Her eyes narrowed, ears pulled back, and her tail twisted impatiently.
In an instant, she let out a low growl—"Hhhhhh…"—and leapt forward slightly, scratching at the air. Her teeth showed. She was showing the classic stance of a cat that felt threatened or displeased.
"Whoa! Hey, why're you freaking out?" Toru shouted, stepping back half a step. "Hungry? Feeling restless? Need a snack?!"
Ruka let out a long sigh.
"She's not a toddler, Toru. That's just a mammal's defensive reaction to feeling uncomfortable and threatened."
"Yeah... I know, I mean... she's small, but why is she so scary?" Toru hid behind Ruka.
Aya quickly raised her hand, trying to calm the cat.
"Hey... hey... relax, okay? They're not necessarily bad," she whispered softly as she stepped closer. "And even if they're weird, well, you're weird too — we're all weird."
The cat slowly turned to Aya, then gradually relaxed her bristled fur. She was still suspicious, but quietly admitted at least these creatures hadn't attacked her.
The atmosphere began to calm. The light from the strange object they'd brought now glowed softly, almost like a small lantern in the middle of the graveyard. Aya and the cat, though still cautious, had sat back down on the clean tombstones, while Toru and Ruka stood a little apart, busy adjusting something on their wrists.
They started talking. Started laughing a little. The cat, though not fully friendly yet, no longer growled.
But in the middle of their light conversation, Aya suddenly interrupted.
"Sorry…" she said softly, but her eyes were serious. "I've been thinking about something all this time."
Toru and Ruka turned almost at the same time.
"You can see me," Aya continued. "But I'm a ghost. I died over two hundred years ago. Normal humans can't see me. They just walk right past me like I'm air."
She glanced at the cat.
"Maybe… cats can see because they have spiritual instincts. But you? You're not humans from Earth… So how is it…?"
Her face showed deep curiosity, mixed with a hint of fear.
"Do you… have your spiritual eyes open?"
Toru blinked.
"Spi…ritual eyes?" he repeated, confused. "Is that a weapon or some kind of scanner?"
Ruka raised an eyebrow.
"Not found in the system. The term 'spiritual eyes' has no literal equivalent in our database."
"You mean you can see me without doing anything? Just like that?" Aya asked, slowly starting to doubt her own existence.
Toru tapped his chest and chuckled softly.
"I'm an alien. Not human. So maybe that's the reason."
Aya frowned.
"Alien?"
"Yeah, alien. A creature from outer space. A being from the stars," Toru replied proudly.
Aya still looked confused.
"So... like humans from a foreign country?"
Ruka immediately turned her face away, trying to hold back a laugh. Toru was silent for a moment, then rubbed his head with a sigh.
"Ugh… This feels like when I tried explaining Wi-Fi to swamp creatures last year…"
Aya pointed at their bodies.
"But… you look just like humans. Two legs, two arms, two eyes, hair… Even you, Toru, messy like a city kid from the old days."
Toru glanced at Ruka.
"See? I told you—I'm too civilized to be called an alien."
Ruka replied flatly,
"Your body structure only looks human on the outside. What's inside… is debatable."
Aya finally chuckled softly.
"I thought… you were curious spirits from the future or something like that."
Toru closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to dig through his head full of wires, wild ideas, and unclear plans.
"Hmm… wait… wait…" Then he suddenly jolted, eyes wide. "Ah! Oh man… I'm so dumb!"
Aya and the cat stared at him in shock.
"What?" Aya asked, confused.
Toru pointed to his own eyes.
"Contact lenses! I forgot... I'm wearing self-made lenses—a visual detector for all dimensions. They can read energy structures, fine particles, waves, even the presence of invisible beings. Including you!"
Aya looked at him in disbelief.
"So... you can see me because of something weird in your eyes?"
"Exactly!" Toru replied, proudly raising a finger. "It's called the Neuro-Spectra Multivision Mark 7. Still a prototype, but pretty cool, right?"
Ruka responded flatly.
"You forgot you're the one who made them. Very Toru of you."
Toru just laughed.
"Well… I have a lot of projects, you know."
Then he pointed at Ruka.
"As for Ruka, she doesn't need that. She's a robot. Her system's built-in from the factory. Built-in scanners, can scan anything—even emotional temperatures—like that cat's anger just now."
Aya looked at them both in awe, her eyes wide like a child seeing lights for the first time.
"That's amazing. I feel like some ancient stone suddenly being talked to by a shooting star."
Toru quickly waved his hand.
"Hey, hey, it's not because you're too old, okay! I mean… maybe, just a little. But that's not the point!"
Aya giggled softly, while the cat just shook her head.
Toru mumbled and stared up at the night sky.
"Earth isn't that advanced yet, huh. But no wonder. I live in one of the tech hubs of the universe—NeoKusa. There, kids as young as seven can build their own private jets, and their dogs have robot assistants to fetch balls."
Aya covered her mouth, unsure whether to be amazed or confused.
"So… super high-tech stuff like those lenses or robots like Ruka… they're nothing special where I come from. But I like Earth. Everything feels warmer here."
For a moment, no one spoke. Only the distant chirping of crickets and the whisper of wind brushing over the tombstones. Aya smiled softly, feeling a warmth beginning to grow inside her. Even though her body was just an echo from the past, that night she felt a little more real. Maybe because of the presence of those two strangers. Maybe because of the little cat beside her, faithfully coming every night.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Aya didn't feel alone.
The wind still whispered, but now it sounded gentler.
Aya finally mustered the courage to speak. After all the long, confusing conversation, she interrupted with a soft but steady voice. She introduced herself. Simple—just a name. No extra stories. She was still shy about revealing who she was in the past, but she was proud to say at last: "My name is Aya."
She smiled gently, then looked over at the cat.
But there, she paused. Her face puzzled. She didn't know her little friend's name yet, and obviously, the cat couldn't speak to explain. So she shrugged softly and said simply,
"Just call her… little cat."
The cat quickly turned her head. Her tail flicked the ground once, twice. She was clearly annoyed. Her eyes narrowed sharply at Aya, then she sat down dramatically, turning her back to everyone.
Aya held back a small laugh, then bowed her head slightly in apology.
Toru and Ruka, in their usual style, responded with formal gestures. They nodded lightly, bowing their heads as they spoke greetings in their own language—strange words whispered and stressed like a chant from a distant world.
Aya could only smile, not understanding the meaning of their words. But the tone was warm.
Then, as if feeling the bond had grown enough, Aya made a gesture. She opened her hands toward the empty grass near the tombstones.
That place could be their resting spot. No one disturbed it. She believed these two creatures meant no harm. They were strange, yes. But strange in a way that wasn't frightening.
But Aya forgot one important thing—these two beings came with their own kind of weirdness.
Toru immediately lit up with excitement. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a thin, palm-sized object. It shimmered silver, like a shard of a star. With a single touch on its surface, a soft mechanical hum sounded... and suddenly—whoosh!
A transparent metal structure unfolded from the ground. Tiny lights blinked in bright colors, forming a kind of futuristic tent with gleaming panels and a soft cushion that seemed to float just above the earth.
Aya jolted back, eyes wide, her body instinctively stepping a few paces away.
The light was too bright, too flashy. She floated quickly toward Toru and Ruka, her expression turning worried. Her voice was soft but firm.
She didn't like lights like that. Too flashy. This place needed to stay hidden. If any bad humans—or something worse—found them, she didn't want anyone to get hurt.
Toru and Ruka exchanged glances. Toru raised an eyebrow; Ruka gave a slight nod. Without much protest, they adjusted the settings. The tent's light gradually dimmed, shifting into a soft blue glow, barely noticeable. The tent almost seemed to blend into the dark night.
Aya breathed a sigh of relief; the place was calm once more.
That night, the cemetery—once filled only with silence—felt warmer. Amid the dew-kissed grass, the small tent with its soft glow stood like a capsule of peace. Ruka sat quietly, eyes closed but her systems still active. Toru was curled up in a messy sleep position, like a child who forgot the outside world.
Aya sat on her tombstone, hugging her knees, gazing at the star-filled sky. She couldn't remember the last time she felt safe. No fear tonight. No rush of time chasing her. There was only the quiet air—and new friends she never expected to come from the stars.
The cat looked at Aya for a moment.
No words were spoken, but their gaze said enough. Aya nodded softly.
"Take care on your path…" she said gently.
The cat meowed quietly in response, then turned away. She walked slowly, passing tombstones one by one, her tail swaying calmly. Tonight, she would return to her resting place—not out of tiredness, but because for the first time, she could sleep… peacefully.
And the night fell silent again, but no longer an empty silence.