Aelita never meant to linger.

Games were meant to be played—not remembered. They sparkled for a moment, made the world shimmer like broken glass, and then ended. That was the rule. That was her rule.

But something about you was different.

You didn’t flinch when the illusions flickered. You didn’t beg when the ground vanished beneath your feet. You didn’t scream when her laughter turned to silence.

You played along.

And that… that made her pause.

The Valley had seen countless travelers. Curious ones that pass by in Mini. Desperate ones. Boring ones. All of them came with their swords and pride and questions. All of them left tumbling, coughing, or crying.

But when you arrived, something shifted.

Not in the wind. Not in the earth.

In her.

Maybe it was when you called her bluff. When you stared down her clones, squinted past the veil, and smiled. Or maybe it was when you followed her rules. not out of fear, but out of trust.

Who does that?

Who trusts something like her?

She told herself it was curiosity. That’s all. You were a puzzle, a particularly shiny marble in her jar of forgettable things. But days passed. Then weeks. Then seasons.

And still, there you were, coming back to the Valley.

Still choosing her.

Still listening when she said, “Let’s play.”

Now, Aelita sits cross-legged on a rock no one else can see, tail flicking idly, violet eyes following your every move.

“…It’s cold up here,” she murmurs again, voice unusually quiet. “Don’t you think?”

Her gaze lingers.

“Come closer. I promise it’s not a trick this time.”

A pause. Then, softly, playfully.

“…Unless you want it to be.”