Ash stayed exactly where he'd been standing before, arms loose at his sides, eyes half- open like he was half here and half somewhere else entirely. The attempted stabbing in the restroom didn't show on his face at all. It didn't even leave a wrinkle in his mood. If anything, it just reminded him how predictable people were.
Another hour crawled by.
One after another, people walked up onto the stage, standing under the pale lights as if the world had suddenly become smaller and quieter just for them. The microphone stood at the center, untouched for a moment, before an older hero stepped forward to speak.
His voice was steady, low, touched with the kind of tired respect that only long years in service could carve into a man.
"Six years," he began, fingers tightening around the edges of the podium. "Six years, and still… some wounds refuse to heal. We gather here not to reopen them, but to honor the ones who never got the chance to feel the sun again. Those who fought, those who stood their ground, those who… never came home."
A long silence followed.
No one rushed him.
He stepped back.
A middle-aged woman came forward next, clutching a small locket in her hands. She didn't introduce herself. She didn't need to.
"My daughter," she said softly, "was nineteen. She used to tell me she was afraid of the dark. But that day… she stood in it for others. And I'm proud of her. I'll always be proud."
Her voice trembled. "I just wish… she had been given the chance to grow old."
She stepped away, wiping her eyes as the crowd lowered their heads.
The next speaker was a hero in heavy armor, the metal scratched and faded—a veteran. He leaned toward the mic, voice rough with something that wasn't quite anger and wasn't quite grief.
"They were good people. Brave people. And their last moments weren't quiet, or peaceful, or gentle. But they held the line. They held it until their bodies couldn't anymore. That's what courage looks like."
He nodded once. Stepped back.
A younger boy walked up next—twelve, maybe thirteen. He held a holo-image of a smiling man who looked like him. The boy swallowed hard before speaking.
"My dad always told me heroes were supposed to come home," he whispered. "He didn't. But… he saved a lot of people that day. Mom says that makes him bigger than a hero. I don't know what that means. I just miss him."
The entire crowd went still as he stepped down, guided by his mother.
After him came a tall hero with a calm face but shaking hands. He cleared his throat before speaking, almost too quietly for the mic to catch.
"I fought beside them. I saw how hard they tried. I saw the fear in their eyes. I saw the hope too. Even when they knew they wouldn't survive… they still protected the civilians behind them."
He paused, the tremble in his fingers growing. "I'll never forget that."
Next came an elderly father. His voice cracked from the first word.
"My son… he laughed loudly. Too loudly sometimes."
A shaky smile. "He annoyed me. He forgot birthdays. He burned food. He wasn't perfect. He was human. But he was good. And he deserved a life. All of them did."
His hands trembled as he lowered his paper and walked off the stage, leaning on someone for support.
A pair of siblings took the stage next, holding hands tightly.
"My sister wasn't a hero," the older one said, "Yet she died helping strangers. She didn't hesitate. Not once."
The younger one wiped his face and added, "She just liked helping people."
They stepped away, supporting each other.
One of the high-ranking heroes from the Association stood next. His uniform was bright, polished, almost too clean for a day like this.
"We honor their sacrifice," he said with the tone of someone used to giving speeches. "We carry their legacy. And we promise to protect the world they gave their lives for."
Some people nodded. Some stayed quiet.
More people came.
A husband speaking for his wife.
A daughter speaking for her mother.
A friend speaking for a teammate.
A commander speaking for his squad.
A scientist speaking for a colleague.
A stranger speaking for someone who saved them and vanished in the rubble.
Every voice added another layer to the silence between each speech. Every story left something behind on the stage.
Meanwhile, Ash stayed stiff, listening to the next person on stage speak—a quiet, trembling hero who looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Ash didn't care much for speeches, but he respected the weight of grief, so he stayed still, arms folded, eyes half-lidded.
Then he felt it.
A hand.
On his back.
He should've sensed it—should've heard the steps, the breath, the shift of air—but nothing. Whoever it was got close enough to touch him without a whisper.
His instincts twitched.
But instead of tensing, Ash let out a small smile and muttered, low enough for only one person to hear:
"I lowkey started planning a funeral for you."
A loud laugh exploded behind him—so loud that many people turned their heads with disapproving stares.
The man behind Ash immediately slapped a hand over his own mouth, straightening up awkwardly. He was slightly taller than Ash, brown hair messy, and wrapped in that stupid vermillion coat he swore made him look "classy." It didn't. It made him look like a magician who got kicked out of his show.
Ash tried not to laugh but failed, a small grin breaking across his face. He turned around fully and pulled the guy into a quick hug.
"Ken," he said, voice lighter than it had been all day. "How was the mission?"
Ken let out the sigh of a man who had been waiting to talk about it for hours. His expression instantly shifted into dramatic storyteller mode.
"Ohhhh, don't even get me started," he said, hands flying around like he was describing the universe being born. "So first of all, I had to escort this extremely beautiful lady—like, Ash, I'm telling you, STUPID beautiful—and did they tell me anything about her? No. Nothing. Zero. Just 'protect her with your life.' Bro, I didn't even know her last name!"
Ash raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a normal day in the Association."
"No, no, listen," Ken continued, leaning closer like he was spilling state secrets, "we're flying through sector 12, right? Everything's calm. Then suddenly? BOOM. Ambush. Out of nowhere. Three ships, cloaked. They try to ram us. They try to board us. They try everything."
Ash chuckled. "You alive, so I'm guessing you handled it."
Ken scoffed proudly, flipping his coat back with dramatic flair. "Dealt with it? I stylishly dealt with it. First guy tried to stab me—dropped him. Second guy tried to shoot—kicked him so hard he forgot who his employer was. Third guy tried to flirt with the lady—listen, that was the real crime—I launched him into space."
Ash shook his head, grinning despite himself. "You always have the weirdest missions."
Ken nodded seriously. "And then, here's the craziest part… turns out she was actually cool. Like, really cool. We talked. Became friends. She even complimented my coat, said it 'matched my energy.'"
Ash eyed the coat. "…She hates you."
Ken gasped. "WHAT—"
Ash snorted. "Bro, look at it."
Ken looked down dramatically at his vermillion coat. "Okay, okay, MAYBE it's loud, but—"
"It's screaming," Ash said.
"It's charismatic!"
"It's ugly, Ken."
Ken put a hand over his heart, pretending to be stabbed. "Wow. Hurtful. But you know what? I missed you too, man."
Ash rolled his eyes but smiled quietly, genuinely, the noise of the memorial momentarily fading behind the comfort of something familiar.
They both stood there together for almost an hour before Ash's shift ended and he clocked out without informing anyone.
They arrived at the Tram station and boarded it, slipping into two empty seats near a window. Night hadn't fully settled yet, but the sky had dipped low, heavy with orange dust and neon haze.
Ken stretched his legs out like he owned the whole tram. "Bro, I swear," he said, rubbing his face, "if one more person asks me what rank I am, I'm gonna start lying. Like—'Yes, hello, I am God.'"
Ash snorted. "You already act like that."
"Because it WORKS," Ken said, pointing at him like he had just solved world hunger. "Confidence beats rank every time."
Ash leaned back, eyes drifting over the city rushing past—towering advertisements, street vendors closing shop, kids running between holographic posters, old trains abandoned at side rails.
"Feels weird," Ash murmured.
Ken tilted his head, studying him. "You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"Thinking like a single father of six."
Ash groaned. "I am literally twenty-one."
"And emotionally eighty-four. Easily."
Despite himself, Ash laughed.
The tram shook and lurched slightly, and Ken bumped into him. "My bad," Ken said casually, then added with a smirk, "So… i heard you met Luna?"
Ash's jaw tightened. "Yeah."
Ken blinked. "...Bro."
He hissed like someone who just watched a man walk back into his ex's house for "closure."
"I'm fine," Ash muttered.
"No, you're in denial," Ken countered. "Which is stage one of stupidity."
Ash rubbed his forehead. "She was being normal. I was being normal. It was whatever."
Ken raised an eyebrow so high it practically exited the tram. "You were rejected by the woman you had a whole novel-length crush on. The universe does not let that be 'whatever.'"
Ash chuckled under his breath. "Just quit it."
"You're coping." Ken nudged him again. "But it's okay. I'm here. We'll eat something stupidly expensive to numb the pain."
"We're broke."
"Details," Ken waved off. "We'll eat air if needed."
Ash leaned back, letting the rattling of the tram fill the silence. "The ceremony was long. A lot of people crying. A lot of pretending things are fine. A guy tried to steal wallets. Then someone tried to stab me in the bathroom."
Ken paused.
Raised his finger.
Opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then:
"...What the hell kind of bathroom did you walk into?"
Ash shrugged. "Happens."
"No!" Ken exclaimed, half laughing. "No it does NOT just 'happen.' Are you a magnet for idiots?"
"Apparently."
Ken stared at him for a few seconds, then sighed and rested his head against the window.
"I leave you alone for a week and you collect a whole rogues gallery."
Ash didn't answer, just watched the lights smear past the glass like glowing streaks of paint. The tram settled into a smooth rhythm, rocking them gently, as if urging them to relax for at least a moment.
Ken nudged him with his elbow, softer this time.
"Hey. Whatever it is… you're good, alright? I'm here now."
Ash turned to look at him, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. I know."
They fell into a comfortable.
"Where you wanna eat?" Ken finally asked.
Ash shrugged. "Anywhere."