Chapter Text
Samuel Beckett, Worstward Ho
"Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”
She doesn’t notice it at first; how badly she’s handling things.
It shows up in fragments. In the way enemies in the Frostlands fall faster than they should, because she doesn’t stop when they stagger. She keeps striking even after they collapse, as if motion alone can keep something from catching up. Abby hovers closer than usual, her voice cutting in more often.
“Rover—easy,” Abby says once when too many echoes come into the tacet mark.
Then again.
Then softer, like Abby’s afraid of being heard.
Rover huffs out breath that fogs the cold air, sharp and uneven. The frost bites at her lungs, but she doesn’t slow. She rides the bike too fast, leans too hard into turns that make Abby yelp, lets the wind tear at her until her thoughts scatter. Reckless feels easier than careful. Movement feels safer than stillness.
She hasn’t been spending much time at Startorch either.
She tells herself it’s practical; too many people, too many distractions. But the truth presses in anyway. Every corridor reminds her of days spent there with Aemeath. Sitting on steps. Sharing secrets. Listening to her talk about lectures she barely paid attention to. The days they spent tracing her existence with the Soliskin. It’s easier not to go. Easier not to look.
And then, without meaning to, she wanders too close.
The cabin stands where it always has, tucked into the frostlands like it never learned how to leave. It sits nestled beneath enormous, cascading purple foliage that drapes like a curtain of blossoms. The light inside the cabin glows warm gold against the deep blues and violets of the surrounding cavern.
Snow and rock frame the space, but the cabin endures, stubborn, alive. Windows quiet. Unchanged.
Rover stops.
She doesn’t know how long she stands there, just staring, long enough for the world to slow around her. Long enough for Abby to notice.
“Rover,” Abby says carefully, floating closer. “You’ve been starin’ at this cabin for half a minute there. Somethin’ on your mind?”
“It’s nothing,” Rover answers immediately. The lie slips out easily.
She doesn’t move. Neither does the cabin. Eventually, her feet carry her forward anyway.
The door opens.
The air inside hasn’t changed.
It hits her all at once; a physical thing, sharp and sudden. A gut punch that makes her stop just past the threshold. This place remembers her. Remembers them. She was here with Aemeath only days before she disappeared- before everything unraveled, before the past clawed its way back into the present.
The game records of Space Fantasy: Katya VI flicker faintly at the edge of her thoughts.
A small table a little ahead lights up on its own as she steps closer. Two pieces of paper lie flat on a polished surface, carefully placed, not tossed aside. Paintings Aemeath made as a child. Crooked lines. Impossible colors.
The drawings are unmistakably childlike: thick outlines, bright colors, slightly uneven proportions. One shows a green dragon-like creature beside a small pink-haired figure under a cheerful sky. Flowers dot the ground. The sun smiles. Nothing here is hostile.
The second drawing is more fantastical: rounder shapes, stars scattered everywhere, a large creature bursting with color and energy, and again a small pink figure nearby. Heroes are central. Danger exists, but it’s playful, conquerable.
Rover reaches out, touches the edge of the table, then carefully sets the paintings back exactly as they were. She blinks hard, fighting the tightness in her chest.
She turns away.
In her room, music records rest where they always have. Aemeath’s voice, recorded, perfect, waits quietly on the radio. Rover hesitates, then plays one.
She doesn’t make it all the way through.
The sound becomes too much. She turns it off and steps back into the hallway, breath unsteady.
A few books stick out from a shelf.
One catches her eye immediately: a colorful booklet:
Space Fantasy: Katya VI — Illustrated Galactic Routes & Quest Guide.
Aemeath had mentioned it weeks ago. How much she loved it. How she’d gone on and on about the characters like they were real people. Rover opens it slowly.
The pages are annotated in small, crooked handwriting. Notes in the margins. Stars drawn around certain routes. The hero looks oddly familiar; broad stance, confident silhouette. Too familiar. Rover traces her fingers lightly over the page, then closes the book and slides it back into place.
Further along the shelf, the books change.
Child Psychology Assessments.
Parental Engagement and Cognitive Development in Children.
From left to right, the titles grow newer. The subject matter shifts.
Healing a Child’s Past.
Building a New Home: How Adoptive Families Fill Childhood Gaps with Love.
Hearing What Your Child Doesn’t Say.
Parenting books line the shelf. They’re worn. Used. Thumbed through again and again.
Rover pulls one free and opens it to a dog-eared page.
A handwritten note sits in the margin.
"Aemeath brought a Snowfluff Seal inside to play. Soaked the floorboards. Ended up yelling at her… Need to work on my communication."
Rover’s vision blurs.
She doesn’t remember this. She doesn’t remember being that person. But the grief settles anyway, heavy and undeniable, like mourning something she was never allowed to keep.
Her legs feel unsteady as she climbs the stairs.
Aemeath’s room waits at the top. It's soft in a way the rest of the world isn’t.
The bed is still there, untouched. Pink bedsheets patterned with rows of tiny triangles. Two plush toys sit side by side, a black cat with golden eyes and a tacet mark on its right paw, cradling a smaller pink one in its arms. The smaller one holds a book, posed as if listening intently.
Once upon a time, there was a cat hero…
Rover almost reaches out.
She stops herself.
On the desk, a small booklet lies slightly askew. She opens it. Inside are photos of Aemeath with her school friends. She’s seen these before. Smiling faces. Shared moments.
She flips further.
A picture taken in the frostlands.
Then, older than the rest- a worn photo of herself and Aemeath when she was just a child.
Rover turns the pages, empty. She adds a newer picture, memory still painfully fresh.
The auditorium after the concert. The crowd blurred behind them. Rover smiling without realizing it. Aemeath leaning close at her side, arm outstretched toward the camera, wearing that same grin she had as a child, all teeth and cheeks, flashing a triumphant yay gesture.
The echo of her song seems to linger in the room. That happy tune. Rover would give anything to hear her sing it again.
Her last words surface unbidden.
I wish… that in your long, long life, you never forget how to feel. The sorrow, and the joy.
She’d grinned like it was helpful.
And then, smaller, lighter, slipping through her fingers-
Getting to share this final journey with you… makes me so happy!
Rover remembers shouting. Desperation tearing her voice apart.
“No! If you do this, there’s no coming back! The Stridergate will shut you out forever!”
She sinks down onto the floor, back against the bed, hands shaking.
Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, she thinks distantly. Like some part of her already understands what comes next.
Days later, near S.I.G.M.A., clearing bike protocols, the memory hits without warning.
The place where they found Aemeath- or what was left of her.
Luuk’s message echoes in her mind.
“As your friend, I wouldn’t suggest you think of her as the girl you knew. That would cause unnecessary pain.”
She remembers ranting. Pleading. The storm of hope crashing through her all at once.
Aemeath- distant, hollow, had reached out. She remembers her knees giving out by the sheer hope it brought to her; then, she flicked Rover’s nose gently with the bridge of her finger, just like she used to when Rover was tired or panicking.
“Don’t… be sad…”
Rover had nearly collapsed. Remembers the strength it took to realise in the emotionless words that..
She stood, regardless, heaving a sigh that ached through her bones.
And then, with that same empty calm, Aemeath lifted her hand and released the paper plane from her childhood. It flew far. Farther than it ever should have.
Rover had sat beside her, silent, staring at the expressionless mask before her. A hollow shell.