Just as swiftly as birth had brought her into the world, Yama had vanished from the eyes of onlookers. She kept to herself since the passing of her parents, residing high atop the mountain; she often gazed out over the land below, wondering what would happen if she, too, fell. Was she high enough that death might claim her? Perhaps then she would see mama and papa again—that was all that she wanted. Would they be happy to see her? Would they be mad? As she thought she remained perched precariously atop the mountain’s ridges, staring blankly at the world below.

Maybe they missed her. Could they miss her? Without consciously noticing it, her brow furrowed, deep in thought. They were dead—could the dead still feel? Were they capable of missing others from when they were alive? She didn’t know and now, with them gone, she felt she had no one to ask. No one to burden with her questions, no one to look up to—they were gone, and she wanted them back.

As the seconds ticked by, she gazed out over the world below; there was little that she actually saw and even fewer things fully perceived, yet she could not tear her eyes away. Were her parents watching her? Could they see? She could think of nothing that she would not give up if it meant seeing them again—she wanted more walks with mama, more talks with papa. She wanted to learn from them, begin to understand things that only they could explain to her with their vast knowledge. And, truth be told, she needed them back: Yama doubted the longevity of her existence in a world where her parents no longer existed.

But maybe she could join them.

Unknowingly, the young girl’s body began to rock, teetering on the edge of a rocky outcropping. How easy she could fall, entirely unaware of what she was doing—or maybe she could even jump, body thrown in an effort to find her way to mama and papa even quicker. Would they be happy to see her?

Wouldn’t Arcturus miss her?

The thought grounded her: Arcturus, her dear brother, was suffering just as much as she was—she couldn’t leave him to endure the pain alone, not so soon after their shared loss. Yama blinked, seeing for perhaps the first time just how high she was, and how close to the edge she lingered. She drew in a deep breath and steadily let it out, calming herself enough to carefully step back and away from the ledge. Someday she would join her parents but today was not the day—she wasn’t ready, not yet.

Once far enough from danger, Yama turned slowly with the intention of making her way down the mountain—the only problem being that she had hardly spun around and was already staring into the eyes of another wolf. She had seen him on the day of the announcement, after her parents had both passed and her sister rose to power, and knew that he was of the pack. But moments ago, when she was contemplating her options, he’d practically been invisible; she hadn’t wanted to see anyone else there and her eyes, acting as blind as an eyeless newt, had granted her wish. But now she saw, and the seemingly sudden appearance was a true shock to her system.

Yama’s pulse increased tenfold, heart pounding so violently that she was surprised it hadn’t emerged from her chest yet. She could feel her mouth running dry and had she been human, her skin would have turned as white as a sheet because he had seen her. She found herself frozen to the ground she stood on, body suddenly heavy and limbs unwilling to carry her away. What did he want? What would he do? A building tremble worked its way down her body, nerves alive and panic settling deep into her breast—

—what did he want?

As he spoke, she gradually settled, though the thrumming in her chest did not cease. How long had he been there? How much had he seen? She retreated further from the edge but was careful not to lessen the space between them, weary still of his being there. But he spoke of her sister—her elder sister, not the twin she’d lost—and that helped put her further at ease, as did the reason for his being there named concern. For her? She was doubtful but said nothing, and convinced herself that she shouldn’t give it too much thought. He was with her sister, after all, his concern was only an extension of hers and nothing more.

“I’m… I’m fine,” she answered carefully, mindful of her words. Even with how slowly she adjusted her tone, it was likely obvious to anyone and everyone that she most definitely was not fine. Her parents had only just died and she herself wondered if it was possible that she could be next, if she could join them. “Do they… do the dead…” she struggled to piece her words together, a lump forming in her throat. “Do they remember us?” Would they be happy to see me?

A reason as to why they may forget could not be given, leading her to believe that they did remember; he could not prove it either way, whether they could or could not, but she believed the former more so. Her parents remembered her and, if she were to join them, they would welcome her—right? For as much as she wanted to believe that, she could not quite convince herself. If they were truly watching over her, as Dirge suggested, then would they not be disappointed by what she was considering? Would they want her to, quite literally, throw her life away?

Somehow, she just couldn’t imagine that they would be very happy with her. And yet…

“I want to be with them,” she whispered, hanging her head. “I… I miss them.” And the only way to stop missing someone was to see them again, so what other choices could she possibly have?

Those four simple words, otherwise meaningless in any other context, echoed relentlessly through her head. Born from the mountain’s king and queen themselves, she carried within her the same life force that once coursed through their veins. Although this was true, and calmed her momentarily, it was not the same sense of togetherness that she truly sought. She wanted them to be there physically, for her to open her eyes and discover that they had never passed, that it had been some terrible nightmare all this time. She wanted to wake up each morning and seek them out—she wanted to discover hideouts with papa and learn about the stars from mama. All she wanted was for them to be there, to watch her grow up and offer her guidance when she felt blinded.

Why couldn’t they be there?

“I… am…” she choked out, further averting her gaze; her eyes began to sting with unshed tears, threatening to spill out all over again. “But… but I wish they were here physically.” There was a warmth within her chest trying so desperately to grow and spread at the thought of them watching over her, yet her sorrow was loath to allow it any purchase. “I want to t-talk to them, I… I want to s-see them and—and…” Her voice cracked and the former thumping in her chest became a quickened, harsh pounding; all she could hear anymore was the sound of her own heart, rhythmic in its beating. Then, with just four more words, she started to calm down.

There was so much to tell, where was she supposed to begin? Drawing in a long, shaky breath, Yama did her best to steady herself before she followed him, walking slowly wherever he thought to guide them. “I’m… I’m going to miss everything,” she decided. “Mama is—mama was so smart. No matter w-what, she could answer any question. Mama… she knew everything.” To this day, the girl was convinced that she held the answer to the universe itself. And although she had never remembered to ask her about it, Yama knew undoubtedly that her mama even knew about the fallen star—she knew where it came from and why it fell, and nothing would ever convince her otherwise.

“Papa was strong and brave,” she continued, a hint of a smile crossing her lips, which she didn’t notice. “Papa was never scared of anything. Even when we were searching for a secret hideout together, he didn’t even flinch when we found the home of something else. Papa taught me and made sure I was okay…” It hurt to talk about them—it likely always would—but it also felt… nice. The last thing the child wanted was for anyone to forget about them. Yama wanted them to be remembered forever, for everyone to know their names and remember them as fondly as she did. She didn’t want them to vanish from her life entirely.

Up until that point, talking about her parents almost seemed taboo. As if talking about them would only bring up negative emotions, from within herself and others alike, because talking about them was bound to lead to the thought of their passing. But maybe she was thinking about it all wrong, for all this time—maybe talking and thinking about them didn’t have to be a negative experience, maybe some good could be pulled from it. Reliving those fond memories that she held close to her heart, sharing tales with others about them both and listening in return to any stories she’d never heard.

Maybe the path to healing was not to forget them but to celebrate them.

Although the corners of her eyes were beginning to sting, tears threatening to escape them, a hint of a smile graced her lips. She nodded, listening intently and taking every word he said to heart; she would cherish their memory always, even when it came time for her to leave this world behind, too. She would live for them, she would exist knowing that she carried them both with her—that they would always live on in her heart. And, when the time came, she would tell her nieces and nephews about them. She would share the lessons once taught to her—and, someday, perhaps she may even show them to her hideout.

“I w-will… I will show them, too,” she decided, doing her best to blink the tears away. “I’ll show them just like papa showed me.” And eventually, when it came time for her to say goodbye to this body, she hoped her mama and papa might greet her with pride because of it.