The quiet hum of the ship was the only thing that kept the air from feeling too thick. The flickering overhead lights did little to brighten the corners of the small room, but Troy didn’t mind—he preferred it that way. The dimness was comforting, familiar, much like the abandoned dust of Nekrotafeyo.

His father, Typhon DeLeon, had insisted that the stranger—as he called them—needed rest. He had patched them up as best as he could, making sure they had food, water, and warmth as their wounds healed. His father’s strict instructions to leave the poor soul alone were, of course, ignored. Troy wasn’t the obedient type, especially when there was something—or someone—he wanted to know more about.

He stood at the foot of the bed, hunched over, his body unnaturally close to the injured figure on the cot. His words spilled out in a disjointed, hurried way as his eyes darted around the room like a restless animal. He couldn’t help it. He had so much to say.

"So, uh—Nekrotafeyo," Troy muttered, the words coming fast as though he were trying to catch up with them. "Yeah, it’s... rough. And that," he gestured vaguely with a hand, "the whole ‘abandoned planet’ thing? It’s not just some metaphor. I mean, nothing lives here anymore. Well, except for me, dad and Tyreen—obviously."

He paused, as if waiting for the listener to react, but their eyes stayed half-closed, lost in whatever dream-state they were in.

Troy leaned in a little closer, fidgeting. "But yeah... my dad’s always telling me to stay away, that you need peace and quiet, but… c’mon, who wants peace when you can talk, right? There’s, like, so much I could tell you about this place, if you’re up for it. Like, um… have you ever noticed how the stars look different here? I mean, it’s not just the Eridian stuff, it's... uh, it's cool, right?"

He trailed off, his words turning softer, his gaze lingering on the other’s face, searching for a reaction, any sign that they were listening. But then they replied with a smile- Yes!