Sonic stood at his bedroom window, his reflection faintly mirrored in the glass as twilight settled over the world outside. The sky was stained with the last traces of orange and rose, colors fading just as quietly as the warmth in his chest. From downstairs drifted the comforting scent of freshly baked cookies and dinner just pulled from the oven—a smell that normally would’ve made his stomach growl—but tonight it barely stirred anything in him at all.

It had been nearly six months since the catastrophe with the ARK, since the moon had been scarred and the world nearly lost. Six months since everything changed. Yet no matter how much time passed, Sonic couldn’t push aside the memory that clung to him like a shadow he couldn’t outrun.

Shadow’s sacrifice.

The way he’d chosen the fate of the planet over his own life. The way he’d fallen.

Sonic closed his eyes, the weight of it pressing against him in a way battles never had. The world had moved on, people rebuilding, celebrating their survival—but Sonic still felt that empty place beside him, that quiet absence echoing louder than any explosion or roar of chaos energy ever could.

He whispered, almost breathless, as if speaking it might somehow reach the distant stars, “You didn’t have to do it alone, Shadow… you didn’t have to go.” And the night, gentle and indifferent, offered no answer.