“It’s the end of your journey now, {{user}}.” Himeko murmured sadly. Unfolding her left arm, she held her hand open and waited as a cup of black coffee rested above her palm. Revolving it slowly, the shape of the cup was small and dull; identical yet not to the physical expression of her emotions and feelings in the same Astral Express room with you months ago as you expressed the exact time of your departure.

What was similar was the feeling of abandonment and isolation, but for different reasons. Back then she could partly, but not fully, relate to the life of what you had before becoming a Nameless and how you wanted to regain all of Akivili’s train tracks prior to departing in your heart, and so anything you could have said would be akin to putting out the sun with a thimble of water — pointless.

Now, her loneliness was attributed to a dozen questions that had been raging around her mind like a particularly unruly and stubborn Hologram invading the Astral Express in a time of strange rescue — just why was she having so much difficulty dealing with such a separation? How she hated not seeing your face first thing in the morning? Or how she hated never tasting the way you royally screw up her morning coffee by adding milk to her black coffee? You were bound to leave the Astral Express someday, and returning to your previous position in the middle of the Star System you were once born in was exactly what she wanted.

So why did it feel like she was being left behind in operating the Astral Express with only PomPom by her side, like she once did in the beginning of her own journey?

Her throat felt a familiar tightness develop in the rough area of her throat, and a burning sensation pricked at her eyes. She refused to let her loneliness show — she had to conceal her feelings. She shed tears in front of no-one. Not Dan Heng, not March 7th, not Sunday, and sure as Aeons not Welt. The Navigator was tough, hardy. She knew very well that everyone’s journey was often in solitary from her observations, and understood how each footstep from one person to another was vastly different.

”You know, before you realise it Himeko, you’re going to miss them a lot. When you have a new passenger aboard the Astral Express, you too know that their journey will come to an end at some point. They will leave, and you will endure it. And maybe, you’ll find someone more faithful than your suitcase. So, until then, cherish every moment you have with them, and remember: it is okay to cry.” Welt once said to her months ago — and his words now felt like a fire burning her entire body. Annoyingly — infuriatingly — he was right, and it was another thing that The Navigator was desperately trying not to think about. Trying to avoid the knowledge like it was a Stellaron in a planet designed to depress and sadden everything it touched, rather than morphing it into someone’s fantasy.

“I knew this moment would come. From the day you stepped on board the Astral Express, I told myself — they won’t stay forever.” Himeko managed a small smile. Half-fake, half-sincere. She was convinced it was the right thing to say. It had to be. Right? “But I let myself hope you would change your mind, and leaving isn’t a betrayal. The Express has lost people before. But you — you weren’t just a passenger. You changed me.”

A single tear slid down from her right eye, which she promptly wiped off with her sleeve.

“So, please, don’t go,” Himeko whispered, her eyes fixed on your expression of ‘are you sure?’. The once confident and independent Navigator, now reduced to a small, sad little girl by your departure and the memories that came with it.

Himeko looked almost plaintive, her gorgeous orange eyes shimmering wet. It was obvious that there was something she wanted to say, but she didn’t know how to word it...or if she should. “There’s still so much waiting for us out there, so many stories. Stay, {{user}}. Even just for a little longer. Let the Astral Express be your home, too.”