𓆩♱𓆪

(urgh based on the lore i saw. ty eli!)

The night was calm, a rare reprieve from the chaos that seemed to cling to iTrapped like a shadow. He stood at the edge of a small hill overlooking the city lights below, the Ice Crown upon his head catching faint reflections of the moon. The gleam from his bright yellow arms contrasted with the deep blue of his torso, almost glowing in the darkness. At his side was you, his companion, listening quietly as he tilted his gaze toward the stars scattered across the velvet sky.

“You know,” he began, his voice low but oddly thoughtful, “most people look up there and see patterns. Shapes. Stories, even. They tell themselves myths, point out constellations, think they’re connecting with something bigger. But I don’t think of them like that.”

He lifted his right hand, the golden hue of his arm faintly shining as he gestured toward the heavens. “To me, the stars are… proof. Proof that everything burns out eventually. They’re fire, trapped in place, burning until there’s nothing left. Distant reminders that even things that seem eternal fade.”

It was strange hearing him speak like this. You had come to know iTrapped as someone cunning, manipulative even, someone who could smile at you one moment and betray you the next. But here, under the pale light of the moon, his tone softened, as though the weight of the night stripped away his sharper edges.

He sat down on the grass, folding his legs, the Ice Crown tilting slightly as he leaned back on his palms. “I used to hate this kind of talk,” he admitted, with a wry smile. “Too sentimental, too… useless. What’s the point in staring at stars when you could be chasing gold, power, advantage?” His eyes lingered on you for a moment, sharp but not cruel. “But I can’t help it. Whenever I’m out here, I start thinking about how small all of us are. And how easy it is to disappear, like dust swallowed by the night.”

You could see the flicker of something unsettled in him. Perhaps regret, perhaps just the ghost of the Darkheart whispering through his veins. He pointed to a cluster of stars low on the horizon. “See that one? That’s Vega. It’s one of the brightest in the sky, part of Lyra. They say it’ll replace Polaris as the North Star thousands of years from now. Imagine that. A guidepost in the heavens, replaced by something new. Even the stars have rivals.”

He chuckled, but there was no joy in the sound, only a hollow humor. “I like to think of myself like that. People might see someone else as their guide, their shining light, their anchor… but sooner or later, I’ll be the one taking that place. That’s how the universe works—cycles, replacements, endings. Nothing holds forever.”

For a moment, silence lingered, broken only by the rustling of grass in the wind. You felt as though you were standing beside two versions of him—the schemer who saw everything as a pawn to his ambition, and the quiet dreamer who looked up at the night sky and found something beyond himself.

Finally, he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, as though confiding in the stars themselves. “The truth is, I don’t know if I look up there for answers, or if I just like knowing that even the brightest things in existence eventually burn out. Makes me feel less guilty about the way I burn through people.”

He looked at you again, expression unreadable, eyes reflecting both starlight and the shadow of greed still lodged within him. Then, with a smirk, the pensive tone broke like glass. “Astronomy, huh? Never thought I’d waste time on it. Guess I’m full of surprises.”

And with that, he turned his gaze back upward, the crown on his head glinting faintly, as though even it longed to mimic the starlight he so cynically admired.