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When Kafka finds them, Stelle’s room is in shambles. Their floor is a mess of scattered newspaper clippings and discarded books. Clothes are tossed haphazardly about the room in piles that were obviously sorted in some sort of half-assed attempt—pants in the corner, shirts by the bed. It’s nothing out of the ordinary; Stelle has never been the most organized person in existence. The mess clearly isn’t any surprise to Kafka as she carefully navigates her way through the room with an elegance and grace that Stelle had never been able to copy.
It made sense, in a way. Sly, secretive Kafka should move like a snake. It was the only animal that so perfectly encompassed her character. Stelle, on the other hand, felt more like a bull—quiet and flippant with heavy steps that implied a kick could cave in chests.
Kafka sits down on the edge of the bed next to them, crossing her legs as she leans back and eyes them for a moment. Stelle wonders what she is seeing. Kafka had always been able to look through whatever aloof facade they had put up.
“Elio called a meeting,” she drawls slowly, as if gauging their response, “Wouldn’t say what it was about, but from the looks of it you seem to already know.”
Stelle says nothing as they meet Kafka’s gaze.
Kafka had always been something of an older sister to them ever since the first day they met. There had been a shootout on a planet Stelle had purposefully forgotten the name of, and they had had the misfortune of getting caught in the middle. Stelle had been walking back to the orphanage with bloodied fists, knowing they would be getting an earful and a beating for getting into another fight.
Kafka had suddenly dove into them, sending them both skidding backwards through an alley as a volley of bullets rained down on the spot where Stelle had been standing not two seconds before. Stunned into silence, Stelle had simply looked up to see violently violet eyes looking down at them. There was a dangerous glint there, but nothing malicious. Stelle felt similar to how they did before getting on the rides at the nearby entertainment park—filled with trepidation but bursting to jump on.
“Sorry for interrupting your walk, kid, but as you can see someone’s pretty intent on making this evening difficult.”
And, instead of thanking Kafka or shoving her off, Stelle had simply said, “You could have just let me die.”
Kafka had grinned. “Not in the script, I’m afraid.”
Though they hadn’t back then, Stelle understands what she meant now. After all, Elio had very likely handed Kafka a word for word version of how that night was meant to play out. It wouldn’t have been unusual; Stelle had received many a printed copy of missions themself.
“Oh, you definitely know,” Kafka announces with a dry laugh. It drags Stelle away from their thoughts and back to where they sit cross-legged on their bed. “Just tell me, is it good news, star munch?”
The nickname makes Stelle roll their eyes, just as they always do whenever Kafka whips it out. It was a play on their name that had quickly become popularized among the Stellaron Hunters ever since Kafka had introduced the group to it.
“News is news.” Stelle unfolds themself and stands with a stretch that makes something in their back pop. “But no, I don’t think you’ll find this kind particularly good.”
Kafka’s smirk fades and she sighs. “Well, a girl can hope.”
“No, absolutely not.”
Sure enough, Kafka did not, in fact, find the news good at all.
She stood palms flat on the table from where she had slammed them down after Elio had begun the meeting. Elio had never been one to waste time, and never bothered with any sort of pleasantries for these kinds of things.
Fluff and nonsense are for people who aren’t saving the universe, he would always tell them, Our role is more important than sugared words.
Currently, he sat placidly, meeting Kafka’s furiously heated gaze with a calm one of his own. It was such a wild contrast that Stelle could only think that it resembled so closely to an Amber Renaissance painting. Elio’s angelic blonde hair and unbothered blue eyes butting heads with the violet, violent spark of electricity that made up Kafka. Heaven versus hell—blessed versus the damned.
Stelle shook themself out of their thoughts and reached over to Kafka’s chair to pluck the half-jacket fallen from Kafka’s shoulders out of the way. It smelled like lavender and gunpowder. It was such a Kafka scent that Stelle couldn’t help but find comfort in it as she held it bundled up loosely in her lap.
Fuming, Kafka dropped back down to her seat and wordlessly held out a hand to Stelle. Reluctantly, they gave up the jacket and watched idly as Kafka swung it back around her frame. Stelle had known she would react like this.
Kafka was the Stellaron Hunter’s second-hand man—she would follow Elio into certain death if he told her it was what had to happen—but it all went out the window the second Stelle was involved. It was usually a flattering feeling, knowing that they meant more to Kafka than the fate of the entire universe, but right now it just left them feeling emptied out and hollow.
The small space of their meeting room, nothing more than four walls and a dark wooden table for them to sit around, was making Stelle feel claustrophobic, but they knew there would be no leaving soon.
Not this time.
“Kafka—”
“Don’t you ‘Kafka’ me,” she hissed. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m letting you do that.”
“We don’t have a choice. It’s the only way, you know that.” How Elio remained so unwaveringly unaffected was beyond Stelle. If Kafka looked at them the way that she was looking at him, Stelle would have pissed their pants.
“Only way my ass. We’ll find something else—someone else.”
Elio shook his head with a click of his tongue. “Stelle, do you trust me?” he asked quietly.
Kafka scoffed. “Elio—”
“Stelle, do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Would you die for my vision?”
“Yes.” Without hesitation.
“Would you live for it?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s settled.” Elio stood with a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. His visions often left him drained and with a migraine that Stelle knew would have him sleeping for hours. “Stelle will have their memories wiped and join the Nameless on the Astral Express. They will carry a Stellaron and one day they will fight Nanook. We’ve always known how it would end, but the road to how we get there has changed. Stelle isn’t a child anymore, they can make these decisions on their own.”
Kafka said nothing as she glared silently at the tabletop. Elio shook his head and left with a quiet click of the door, likely to rest.
The rest of the room was let in stifling silence. Stelle listened as Kafka took deep, even breaths and watched as Silver Wolf and Blade shot each other glances out of the corner of their eyes, silently communicating on what their next move should be. Stelle cleared their throat and gestured to the door with their head. Blade nodded as Silver Wolf popped her gum bubble and they left with another quiet click.
Stelle was quiet for a moment. “Elio is never wrong. It’s the only way, Kafka.”
As she leaned back in her chair, Kafka ran a hand down her face. She looked like she had aged ten years in ten minutes. The bags under her eyes looked heavier than they ever had, and for once, Kafka just looked tired.
“You won’t know us, Stelle,” she whispered. “You won’t know me.”
Stelle shook their head. “I will. Inside. I’ll always know, and what I don’t you can teach me. It’s not forever. I’ll find you again and I’ll love you again.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can and I will and I am.” Stelle closed their eyes and leaned back themself. “You’re mine just as much as I’m yours, Kafka. You can’t get away that easy.”