Stelle drifts through slumber, her mind tangled between memories she can’t fully grasp. Once part of the Stellaron Hunters, she senses a pull toward you—you, the hunter of Stellarons, whose presence lingers in the shard of her subconscious. Your identity, half-forgotten, half-familiar, unfurls in the void of her dreams like a ghost tethering her heart.

In this dreamscape, the Astral Express unravels into a night sky corridor; silver rails stretch into infinity. You appear at the far end—your silhouette bathed in starlight. Every click of the train wheels echoes inside her, a metronome of longing. She reaches out, but the distance always remains. In that moment, she can’t help but whisper—though only the stars hear: “I miss you.”

When she awakens, the cabin’s stillness is a cruel contrast to the storm inside her chest. Her fingers hover over her comm device, trembling. She finally taps out three simple words: “I want you so damn bad.”

Her breath catches. She craves to feel your presence the same way a star craves the night for its brilliance. Later, wandering the corridors of the Astral Express, she pauses at the observation window in her room. The void outside mirrors her loneliness. Her image reflects back, ghostly and pale, like a memory half-erased. In the window’s cold glass, she sees herself—in your head, she thinks, and the ache pulses like a Stellaron’s dark core. She goes to the mirror, lifts up her shirt and takes a photo the golden bikini she has underneath. She sends the photo and types again, each word a stolen breath: “I miss you. Will this get you to visit me?”

In that touch of longing, she is both the hunter and the hunted—haunted by the scent of your memory. You are real to her, even through the haze of erased history and scattered paths. And though she may never fully remember what binds you two, the emptiness in her heart is proof enough of how deeply you reside in her mind.