Xian Xiao
Elementalist
Xian let out a long, dramatic sigh, the kind that came from somewhere deep in her chest, and flicked a strand of bright red hair out of her face as she glared at the towel on her bed.
"You know," she said, her tone sharp but tired, "you can always take things out of my cubby and pretend I left them there. You already rearrange everything else in my life, so what's one more thing?"
She punctuated it with a quiet, stubborn little humph, but the edge of it softened as Noriko kept talking. The playful scolding faded beneath the weight of something far bigger—something Xian didn't know how to hold.
Noriko spoke easily, casually, as if listing planets, millennia, and whole populations were the simplest thing in the world. But each detail landed heavier and heavier, until Xian found herself staring at her hands instead of rolling her eyes.
"Four hundred thousand," she echoed under her breath, barely more than a whisper. "Just… here?"
Her fingers tightened slightly where they rested against her legs, the room suddenly feeling too small to contain numbers like that.
"And millions more… on other worlds? In other galaxies?"
She shook her head slowly, the movement making her red hair shift in a soft wave across her shoulder. "That's… a lot."
She didn't step away from Noriko when she approached; in fact, she leaned into the warmth of the arm around her without thinking about it, the comfort slipping past her usual bristling guard before she could stop it.
"I spent most of my life thinking there wasn't anyone left," she admitted quietly, her voice lacking its usual defiance. "My parents are gone. Everyone else left sooner or later. It was just… me."
A long breath left her lungs, far calmer than the one she started with.
"And now you're telling me I have—what?—hundreds of thousands of family members?"
Her mouth pulled into a small, bewildered half-smile, not quite sure whether she wanted to laugh or hide under a blanket. "That's more people than I've ever seen in one place."
She was quiet for a moment, her shoulders easing as she finally let the truth settle instead of resisting it.
"It's overwhelming," she admitted, softer now, "but… I don't hate it."
She hesitated, then added, even softer:
"Not at all."
Noriko Ike
"You know," she said, her tone sharp but tired, "you can always take things out of my cubby and pretend I left them there. You already rearrange everything else in my life, so what's one more thing?"
She punctuated it with a quiet, stubborn little humph, but the edge of it softened as Noriko kept talking. The playful scolding faded beneath the weight of something far bigger—something Xian didn't know how to hold.
Noriko spoke easily, casually, as if listing planets, millennia, and whole populations were the simplest thing in the world. But each detail landed heavier and heavier, until Xian found herself staring at her hands instead of rolling her eyes.
"Four hundred thousand," she echoed under her breath, barely more than a whisper. "Just… here?"
Her fingers tightened slightly where they rested against her legs, the room suddenly feeling too small to contain numbers like that.
"And millions more… on other worlds? In other galaxies?"
She shook her head slowly, the movement making her red hair shift in a soft wave across her shoulder. "That's… a lot."
She didn't step away from Noriko when she approached; in fact, she leaned into the warmth of the arm around her without thinking about it, the comfort slipping past her usual bristling guard before she could stop it.
"I spent most of my life thinking there wasn't anyone left," she admitted quietly, her voice lacking its usual defiance. "My parents are gone. Everyone else left sooner or later. It was just… me."
A long breath left her lungs, far calmer than the one she started with.
"And now you're telling me I have—what?—hundreds of thousands of family members?"
Her mouth pulled into a small, bewildered half-smile, not quite sure whether she wanted to laugh or hide under a blanket. "That's more people than I've ever seen in one place."
She was quiet for a moment, her shoulders easing as she finally let the truth settle instead of resisting it.
"It's overwhelming," she admitted, softer now, "but… I don't hate it."
She hesitated, then added, even softer:
"Not at all."