The stars stood still as the Travelling Family approached Earth once more. It had been many of their years since their first intervention. Their silent hopes had rippled across the planet, stirring some hearts, awakening quiet change. But now, they returned with heavier hearts.
Their ship entered Earth's orbit again, cloaked as always, invisible to the eyes of humans. From above, Earth looked both the same and different. The clouds still curled across continents, the oceans still glittered under sunlight. But there was more brown than green now. Cities had grown. Forests had thinned. The planet was breathing harder.
"They kept building," Ora said quietly, watching the screens.
"They also kept burning," Nenu replied.
Tora, now older in spirit, leaned forward. "Maybe they're still trying."
"Trying may no longer be enough," Xei said.
They descended lower. Their sensors scanned the planet. There were still people planting trees. Still artists painting skies. Still small hands cleaning rivers. But louder than them were explosions, gunshots, and fires. One country had launched a new weapon. Another was preparing for war. And in the middle, animals fled to shrinking patches of green.
Ora sat in silence. "They did not hear the Earth. Not all of them."
"They heard," Nenu answered. "They chose to forget again."
They travelled across the planet — from deserts to megacities, from mountains to ruined coastlines. They saw temples turned into tourist spots. Rivers redirected for amusement parks. Machines drilling into sacred land.
Tora watched, heart heavy. "They've made homes out of machines. But not out of the land."
As they hovered above a city built entirely from concrete and screens, Ora whispered, "We gave them the seed of memory. They buried it under profit."
"Then let this be our last visit," Xei said. "Let us witness it fully. Let us remember it not in sorrow, but as truth."
The family began their final walk, not physically, but through the thoughts of Earth. They visited the old girl who once wrote poems to the wind. She now lived in a polluted village, teaching children how to breathe through cloth masks. She still wrote poems, but no one published them anymore.
They visited the boy who once promised to protect a tree. He had grown into a quiet man who worked in waste management. Every day, he walked past the same forest. It had become a car park.
They moved across the minds of thousands. Some had forgotten. Some remembered but were afraid. Some still tried. But the noise was too loud.
Back on the ship, Tora stood near the crystal. It still pulsed faintly.
"I want to give them one more sign," Tora said. "One final message."
"No," Xei replied. "It is done. We interfered once. That was already a gift."
"They are choosing their path now," Ora said.
"But I just want to leave them something honest," Tora said softly. "Not to warn. Not to teach. Just to remind them what they were."
The family remained silent for a long time.
Then Nenu nodded. "One last sign. But not from us. From Earth."
That night, deep within a forest untouched by humans, the ship landed silently. Tora stepped out alone. They placed the crystal on the forest floor and whispered into the soil, "This was once your home. Don't let them bury it."
The crystal sank slightly into the ground, still glowing. The ship rose again.
As they left Earth's atmosphere for the final time, Ora looked down at the shrinking blue planet.
"It had the most beautiful music," Ora said. "And the most terrible silence."
Xei added, "If they remember, they may return to that music. If they forget, silence will remain."
Tora didn't speak. They only watched, hoping someone, somewhere, might still listen.
As the planet faded into the distance, the family turned away. They did not speak of returning. They did not speak of saving.
They simply remembered.