Darkness greeted her again.
But it was not the darkness she remembered.
The obsidian plane that once pulsed beneath her feet—alive with soft ripples of light, reacting to every step—was gone. In its place stretched a vast, hollow void. The ground still existed, smooth and cold like polished gem, but it held no reflection, no depth, no echo of life. The darkness did not shimmer anymore; it simply consumed, swallowing any trace of light.
Above her, the solar eclipse that once hung suspended in the sky like a frozen promise—the halo of dim sun, the perfect dark circle of that moon, was gone too.
No shadowed sun. No clear moon.
Nothing.
Just a dead, starless void. And Lunar stood alone in it.
No soft silver glow brushing past her shoulder.
No golden warmth dancing just ahead.
No mother's hand tugging her forward with quiet laughter.
No Eclipse's radiant figure running in the near distance.
Only silence.
She stood there, swaying slightly, her breath unsteady as the weight of the void wrapped around her like a cold cloak. Her legs trembled beneath her—too small, too tired, too lost to keep moving without the world she knew guiding her steps.
Her knees buckled with a soft, helpless sound.
She sank down, the dark surface beneath her as cold and unfeeling as the silence around her. Her palms pressed flat to the ground, searching—begging for even the faintest pulse of warmth, of light, of familiarity.
But the obsidian plane remained dead.
"I can't…" Her whisper cracked like breaking glass. "…I can't hear it…"
Her fingers curled against the cold floor, trying to dig into it, trying to force it to respond the way it used to. But the darkness stayed mute and indifferent.
"I can't feel anything… I can't…"
Her breath hitched sharply, shoulders trembling as she leaned forward until her forehead nearly touched the ground. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes—not falling, suspended like they too were afraid to move in this lifeless place.
A thin, shaking breath escaped her.
"Momma…" The word quivered, fragile and barely formed. "I'm so scared…please..." But the void swallowed the plea whole.
Not even her own voice came back to her.
Lunar's small frame folded further, her fingers tightening painfully around her body as if she could hold herself together by sheer force.
"Someone…" Her voice wavered, splintering. "…please…"
But the darkness gave nothing back.
There were no footsteps approaching—no soft cadence, no familiar pace she could recognize and follow.
There was no warmth reaching for her, no lingering heat of a hand, no quiet presence to anchor her in place.
Above her, there was no eclipse-light watching over the void, no dim halo to break the darkness or guide her forward.
There was only the endless, smothering quiet of a world that had forgotten her.
But then—
A sound cut through the darkness, sharp and sudden. It wasn't the rhythm she expected returning, and it wasn't the sound of running footsteps, nor was it her mother's voice either.
It was something familiar.. and real.
The voice called out, breaking through the void with strong insistence. "Lunar…? Lunar, wake up!"
The obsidian plane shuddered beneath her, thin cracks spreading outward from where her hands pressed against the ground. Light seeped through the fractures, pale and blinding, tearing the darkness apart piece by piece. The world split open like brittle glass, the void collapsing inward as reality rushed back to claim her.
Lunar gasped awake.
Her eyes flew open to find a small pair of hands gripping her shoulders, shaking her with all the strength their little frame could muster.
Leaning over her was a small girl, strands of light pink hair slipping loose and falling into Lunar's field of vision. Beneath the soft morning light, the pink streaks gleamed faintly, framing wide, striking-silver eyes filled with urgency. Not fear born from grief, not the heavy kind Lunar had grown familiar with—but the earnest panic of a child who didn't understand why her friend wouldn't wake up.
"Lunar!" the girl whispered loudly, relief flooding her voice the moment Lunar stirred. "Finally! You were super hard to wake up!"
She puffed her cheeks, breathless and flustered.
"I've been calling you forever! Mama said breakfast is ready and we shouldn't be late or the pancakes get cold!"
Lunar blinked, her dream still clinging to her like soot.
For a moment, the silence from the obsidian plane echoed in her ears.
"…Saichan…?"
Saiya nodded vigorously at the nickname, hair bobbing. "Come on! Hurry up or I'm eating your share!"
Lunar stayed still for another heartbeat, taking in the sight before her. Saiya's earnest face, her hair rumpled from sleep, the small hands still resting on Lunar's shoulders.
It was… grounding. After all that.
"Go ahead," Lunar murmured at last, her voice steadying. "I'll get ready."
"Okay!" Saiya chirped, already scrambling off the bed with the chaotic energy only a child could have. She turned to the doorway, waving eagerly. "But don't take too long! I want us to sit together!"
Then she skipped down the hall, her footsteps fading in uneven, cheerful rhythm.
Lunar exhaled slowly.
The room immediately felt quiet after Saiya's departure—quiet in a way that wasn't peaceful, yet not entirely cold either. Just different. And different, she was learning, had become the new normal.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet brushing the cool tile. The house still unsettled her at times. Its unfamiliar layout, the faint scent of salt carried in from the sea nearby, the way light filtered through wide windows instead of the small ones she'd grown up with. This wasn't her mother's cottage. It wasn't the countryside she knew.
It was Black Caviar's mansion.
A place she lived in now.
One week, Lunar thought, her fingers curling lightly into the mattress.
It had only been one week.
One week since Black Caviar had knelt beside her at the grave, blue-streaked hair stirring in the wind. One week since gentle hands had guided her away from freshly turned soil she couldn't bring herself to leave. One week since familiar neighbors had spoken words of comfort she barely registered, their faces blurring together into something distant and unreal.
One week since… Momma left her…..
Black Caviar had not adopted her. Lunar learned that early, not because anyone explained it to her, but because she overheard about it accidentally.
"She's Guair's daughter," Black Caviar had said once, her voice low, weighted with grief and something deeper—something reverent. "I'm not replacing her mother. Not that I could ever. But I'll care for her. I'll protect her. But she will always be Guair's child."
Lunar didn't know how to feel about that.
Some days, it felt like a lifeline—proof that her mother hadn't been replaced, that the space
"Guair Light" had filled in Lunar's world was still hers and hers alone. Other days, it only sharpened the absence, a reminder of the hollow place still echoing inside her chest.
She pulled herself up and moved to the small dresser Black Caviar had cleared out for her. Her hands fumbled a bit, her movements slow. As she picked out an Oguri Cap shirt her mother had bought as a gift on her 6th birthday, her mind drifted again….
…..to the final moments in her home.
The soft glow of lantern light warming the walls. The uneven rows of drawings they had taped up together, some crooked, some faded, all precious. The familiar scent of old books, dried herbs, and blankets that smelled faintly of sunlight and afternoons spent reading side by side.
Her sanctuary.
Her entire world, folded into a small, quiet house.
She remembered Black Caviar standing at the doorway, not rushing her, not speaking—just waiting. Giving Lunar all the time she needed. Hours, if that's what it took.
Not to say goodbye to a place. But to say goodbye to home.
Lunar had walked the rooms one by one, small steps echoing in the emptiness.
In the kitchen, she rested her hand against the worn wooden countertop where her mother used to knead dough, flour dusting the air as she hummed under her breath. In the living room, her fingers brushed along the back of the old sofa—the place where bedtime stories had unfolded, where legends had been spoken softly and the world had always felt safe.
She lingered in her mother's room the longest. Lunar traced the shallow indentation left on the pillow, the lingering shape of a head that would never rest there again. The sheets were cool and still, untouched in a way that made her chest tighten.
In her own small room, she sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the frayed stuffed bunny her mother had sewn for her. She held it close, breathing slowly, trying to fix every detail in her mind—the warmth, the familiar scent, the sense of being protected—afraid that if she let go, even the memory would slip away.
Eventually, she stood.
Black Caviar waited outside, leaning beside the car. She didn't rush her or speak at first, only watched with patient eyes before finally offering a hand.
"Whenever you're ready," she said gently.
Lunar looked at the hand, then away. Not in refusal—she just couldn't bring herself to take it yet. Black Caviar seemed to understand. She lowered her arm without comment and opened the passenger door instead.
"Let's go," she said softly.
Lunar climbed inside, the seat cool beneath her legs. The door closed with a muted thud, final in a way that made her chest tighten. As the car pulled away, the village slipped past the window, familiar shapes blurring into the distance, carrying her toward a future she didn't understand yet.
One that stretched across the ocean, to Australia, as Black Caviar had told her. A place she had never seen, or even thought about. All leading into a life that didn't feel like hers.
The memory thinned as Lunar pulled her shirt over her head and blinked it away. She reached for a hair tie and tried to gather her hair into a short ponytail, the way her mother used to do it for her. Her fingers fumbled, the strands slipping free no matter how many times she tried.
After a moment, she gave up. She let her grey hair fall as it wanted, uneven and loose, framing her face into some kind of unshapely wolfcut. The reflection staring back at her felt unfamiliar, a quiet reminder that things had changed.
She stepped into the hallway, which stretched out wide and bright, soft recessed lights casting a warm glow across sleek floors polished enough to faintly mirror her silhouette. Even after a week, the house still felt unreal, like she was moving through a long dream she hadn't woken from.
The place was nothing like the cottage she'd grown up in.
Back there, mornings began with sunlight filtering through thin curtains her mother had sewn by hand. Here, light poured in through towering glass panels, framed by clean white walls and silver fixtures.
At home, the floors creaked whenever she ran through the halls. Here, they were silent—too silent. Cool and smooth beneath her bare feet.
As she walked, her fingers brushed a wall screen that shifted to display soft, rolling landscapes in response. She still wasn't used to things like that: walls that moved, lights that dimmed at a touch, windows that darkened on their own when the sun grew harsh.
I'm still not used to it, she thought.
A subtle hum followed her steps—the quiet sound of temperature systems in the background, something she never had in the countryside. Even the air smelled different here; clean, crisp, filtered with faint hints of lavender that didn't belong to any season she recognized.
As she turned the corner, a long glass case came into view, stretching across the wall. Inside, trophies filled the space from end to end, dozens of them arranged with careful precision. Metal caught the morning light, scattering flashes of gold and silver across the floor. Lunar slowed without meaning to, her gaze drifting from one plaque to the next.
The same name appeared again and again.
She'd heard it whispered before—first from passing travelers who recognized the woman that had taken her away from the village, then from airport staff who stared a moment too long, and later from reporters waiting beyond the gates when they arrived in Australia. Even bits and pieces of it had reached her through excited voices on her first day here, achievements recited with breathless pride.
Black Caviar wasn't simply well known. She was something else entirely.
The greatest sprinter Australia had ever produced. One of the greatest uma musume the world had ever seen. An undefeated mare whose races still played on public screens, whose victories were analyzed and replayed by young uma musume everywhere, studied like something closer to legend than mere history.
Lunar stopped in front of a large framed photograph. Black Caviar was frozen mid-stride, power coiled through every line of her body. She wore her racing outfit, a black and blue leather jacket and pants, sleek and sharp against her tanned skin, trimmed in clean lines meant to cut the wind—fitting tightly around her toned form. Her long hair, black with electric blue on the underside, snapped through the air like lightning, and the runners behind her dissolved into a distant blur.
It was a striking image, one she had asked about herself to the figure at the focus of it. This one had been taken during Black Caviar's final race. Her twenty-fifth start. Her twenty-fifth win.Undefeated. The weight of that settled slowly in Lunar's chest.
Her mother had spoken of many notable uma musumes over the years—of the eternal Eclipse, of the legendary Secretariat, of popular national icons such as Oguri Cap, of more recent names like Flightline and Helissio. Old and newer legends wrapped in stories her mother had woven in soft details.
But never, not once, had she mentioned Black Caviar. And yet… they had been friends.
Lunar frowned, pressing her thumb lightly against the glass, the cold surface grazed her. How could her mother speak of so many great names and leave this one out? How could she never mention her friend, of all people?
Maybe her mother had meant to.
Maybe she just… never got the chance.
A faint clatter reached her from the kitchen—plates and cutlery shifting, the gentle scrape of others moving about.
Lunar blinked, pulling her hand from the glass. She straightened, smoothed the hem of her shirt, and stepped toward the dining area.