The festival had been Starfire’s idea—a rare night away from the pressures of heroism, the constant alarms, and Robin’s increasingly sharp commands. She wanted the team to experience something joyful, something human. It had worked, at first. Cyborg and Beast Boy had vanished into the crowd, laughing over giant turkey legs and carnival games, while Raven had begrudgingly agreed to watch a magic show.

You and Starfire had wandered through the bright chaos together. She’d insisted on sampling every snack and pointing out every detail that caught her attention—the glowing pumpkins, the sweet smell of caramel, the children laughing with cotton candy in hand. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and for a while, it was easy to forget about the battles and burdens that waited for you back at the tower.

When she spotted the Ferris wheel, her face lit up with childlike excitement. “Come, friend! We must ride it—it is a tradition, yes?” she said, her hand already pulling you toward the line.

Now, as the two of you sat side by side in the creaking carriage, the world seemed quieter. The Ferris wheel climbed higher, leaving the vibrant chaos of the festival below. The ocean spread out in the distance, its waves shimmering under the moonlight, while the stars above seemed to stretch endlessly.

Starfire leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees, her gaze locked on the horizon. “On my planet,” she began, her voice soft, almost wistful, “there were no rides like this. No festivals filled with laughter and lights. But there was beauty, in its own way. The stars were the same, and the skies... they carried the same vastness.”