How would you describe fear?

Some say fear is like a sticky residue clinging to your skin, an invisible weight that lingers long after the moment passes. Others describe it as an icy chill, so deep it seeps into your bones and renders your body immobile.

No matter how it’s described, fear has one universal truth—it’s a raw, suffocating force that takes hold and refuses to let go.

 

Harabi rarely remembered her dreams. When she woke, they were always fragmented, like scattered leaves on a windblown path—untraceable and fleeting. Most days, she could dismiss the hollow emptiness that followed, the strange tears she couldn’t explain, or the nameless fear that would settle in her chest like a heavy stone.

But today was different.

She woke in a cold sweat, her chest rising and falling rapidly as if she had just surfaced from drowning. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, erratic and deafening. A cold, suffocating weight had lodged itself in her ribs, spreading out like frost encasing her lungs.

Usually, she could calm herself with slow, deep breaths, but not this time. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and an eerie ringing filled her ears. Just beneath that sound, faint whispers seemed to echo, their source indiscernible.

Her vision blurred, the dim room around her melting into swirls of shadow. When she tried to focus, her head spun, and a sickening nausea rolled through her. Trembling fingers pressed against her temples in a futile attempt to steady herself, but her thoughts were scattered, untethered.

And then the pain came.

A sudden, searing jolt coursed through her body, sharp as lightning and twice as unforgiving. Her chest felt as though it were aflame, yet her limbs were icy and heavy, like anchors pulling her down.

Her voice caught in her throat. She tried to scream, to cry out for help, but all that escaped was a strained wheeze. Harabi’s gaze drifted upward, fixing on the ceiling above her, but her vision swam. Her body refused to respond, her muscles frozen in place.

Then came the unmistakable sensation that she wasn’t alone.

Someone—or something—was watching her.

A chill crawled down her spine, and her heart seemed to stop entirely. She wanted to turn her head, to confirm or dispel her fear, but the effort was impossible.

“Harabi!”

The sound of her name shattered the silence like a beacon of light piercing a dark abyss. Suddenly, she could move. Her limbs twitched, her lungs expanded, and the suffocating pressure in her chest vanished as quickly as it had come.

Blinking through the haze, she turned her head and saw wide, worried brown eyes staring back at her. Tatsuki’s face was pale, her usual composure replaced by frantic concern.

“Harabi, can you hear me? What’s wrong?” Tatsuki’s voice trembled, though she tried to steady it. She thrust a glass of water into Harabi’s shaking hands.

“W...water,” Harabi croaked, her voice barely a whisper.

Tatsuki guided the glass to her lips, her hand steady despite the panic visible in her eyes. The cold water slid down Harabi’s throat, soothing the dryness that had made breathing so unbearable.

“What happened?” Tatsuki asked again, her tone softer now.

Harabi closed her eyes, her thoughts a jumbled mess. She took a moment to focus on her breathing before answering, her voice fragile. “I don’t know... It felt like a nightmare, but it was different. So much worse.”

Tatsuki’s brows furrowed, her concern deepening. “Different how?”

Harabi hesitated, searching for the right words. “It felt like... I was drowning in a bottomless ocean, and someone was holding me down, refusing to let me surface.”

Tatsuki’s expression darkened. Without a word, she moved closer, wrapping her arms around Harabi and holding her tightly.

“And now?” Tatsuki asked after a moment.

“I’m... cold and hot at the same time. My body feels strange. It’s hard to describe.” Harabi shivered against her friend’s embrace.

“You need to see a doctor,” Tatsuki said firmly, pulling back to look Harabi in the eyes.

“No, I’m fine,” Harabi protested weakly. “It’s late... I just need to sit for a while.”

“Harabi,” Tatsuki’s tone left no room for argument, “this isn’t normal. There are doctors on this train specifically for emergencies like this. I’ve already called one.”

Harabi opened her mouth to protest again but stopped. The exhaustion in her bones weighed her down, making resistance futile.

 

The doctor arrived moments later, a middle-aged man with sharp eyes that missed nothing. He approached Harabi with a calm, measured demeanor.

“Miss Kurosaki,” he began, glancing at a clipboard. “Your heart rate is elevated, and your reaction time is unusually slow. Can you tell me what happened?”

“It was just a nightmare,” Harabi mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Nightmares don’t typically cause such severe symptoms. What did you dream about?”

“I... don’t remember,” Harabi admitted, her voice barely audible.

“What did you feel, then?”

“Fear,” she answered after a long pause. “Just... fear. But when I woke up, I couldn’t breathe. My chest hurt, and I couldn’t move.”

The doctor nodded thoughtfully. “Were you aware of your surroundings?”

“It didn’t feel like I was asleep at all. It started suddenly and... just disappeared. But it left me terrified.”

The doctor exchanged a look with Tatsuki. “Can I speak with you outside for a moment?”

 

In the corridor, the doctor’s expression softened.

“She experienced a panic attack during sleep,” he explained. “These episodes are often mistaken for nightmares, but the physical symptoms are distinct. Has she ever experienced anything like this before?”

Tatsuki frowned. “She doesn’t sleep well at night. Could that have triggered it?”

“Possibly. Sleep deprivation can increase the frequency of panic attacks. But based on her symptoms, this may be linked to past trauma.”

“Trauma?” Tatsuki’s voice sharpened.

The doctor nodded. “Be patient with her. Surround her with care and support. That’s the first step. I also recommend seeking therapy—professional help can make a significant difference.”

Tatsuki’s expression hardened. “We’ve tried therapy before. It didn’t help.”

The doctor sighed. “Sometimes it takes time and the right approach. But she’ll need support, especially from someone she trusts.”

“Thank you,” Tatsuki said curtly. “I’ll take care of her.”

 

Harabi glanced at her friend. “What did he say?” she asked with a small smile.

Tatsuki sighed, crossing her arms. “Like all the other doctors. They suggest going to a psychotherapist and offer no real treatment.”

“All doctors are the same,” Harabi muttered, shaking her head. “Listen, I already have my own course of treatment. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I wouldn’t worry if you cared more about your health,” Tatsuki countered, her tone firm.

Harabi let out a soft laugh, glancing at the clock. “Tatsuki, it’s midnight. I think we’d better try to get some sleep.”

“You won’t fall asleep,” Tatsuki said knowingly. “I know you too well.”

Tatsuki slowly walked up to her friend and sat down beside her. Closing her eyes, she listened quietly to Harabi’s breathing before speaking again. “Wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” Harabi asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Nightmares. Aren’t you scared?” Tatsuki pressed gently.

“I’m not scared,” Harabi replied after a pause. “Just…” She sighed, her words trailing off. “I don’t know…”

She glanced at her friend with a soft smile, then got up from the bed and wandered to the window. Pulling back the curtain, she gazed out at the darkened mountains. The train sped forward, making the peaks seem as though they were chasing after them, only to fall away into the distance. Only the endless night sky seemed to keep pace.

“Could you turn off the lights, please?” Harabi asked, her gaze still fixed on the window.

As the lights dimmed, Tatsuki joined her by the window. “There are so many stars tonight,” she said softly. “The nights in Nox are always beautiful. When the clouds vanish, you can see every kind of star. Our city sits high in the mountains, so it feels like we’re closer to them.”

She paused, her eyes gleaming with a wistful light. “Sometimes, I used to think I could reach out and touch them. But now… now we’re far from Nox, and the stars feel so distant.” She turned to Harabi. “But I want you to see it.”

“See what?” Harabi asked, a curious smile tugging at her lips.

Harabi pointed out the window. At that moment, a shooting star streaked across the sky, leaving a shimmering trail behind. Tatsuki gasped, her eyes lighting up with wonder.

“A shooting star,” Tatsuki murmured, her smile bright and childlike as she kept her gaze fixed on the heavens, hoping to see another.

“In Nox,” Harabi began softly, “we call them Tears of the Sky. They don’t fall often, but they’re not rare either.”

Tatsuki glanced at her friend. “How did you know there would be one tonight?”

Harabi hesitated, her voice quieter now. “August 30th… Today is August 30th.”

Tatsuki froze, realization dawning on her. “Wait… isn’t that…”

“Tomorrow,” Harabi whispered, her tone heavy, “it will be twelve years since my sister’s death.”

“Harabi…” Tatsuki said, her voice full of unspoken sorrow.

Harabi turned her gaze back to the stars. “There’s a legend in Nox…”

Once upon a time, a child was born into the world—a stillborn child. The mother, unable to accept the death of her firstborn, prayed to the Sun, begging for her child to be given a soul.

But the Sun refused.

Desperate, the mother turned to the Ocean, pleading for help, but the Ocean also denied her. Undeterred, she sought the Spirit of the Forests, the Protector of the Mountains, and countless other sacred beings. Each gave her the same answer: no.

The day slipped away unnoticed as the woman’s search for help consumed her. She cradled her lifeless child in her arms, her hope slowly unraveling. As the sun set and the world fell into slumber, the woman found herself standing on the edge of a cliff. She lifted her eyes to the sky.

The Moon had risen.

In those days, there were no stars—only the Moon, a solitary watcher in the night. It surveyed the sleeping world, its familiar landscape of shadowed forests and howling wolves below. Yet, something caught its attention: a lone woman standing on the cliff, clutching a bundle.

The Moon hesitated. People in such positions often ignored It, leaping into the abyss without a word. Yet this woman surprised It. She spoke.

“Please,” the woman said, her voice trembling. “Mighty Moon, you are my last hope. I beg you, save my child.”

She knelt and unwrapped the bundle, revealing the lifeless form of her child.

“I’ve asked everyone else,” she sobbed. “The Sun, the Ocean, the spirits—they all turned me away. But you... Please, I’ll do anything. Just give my child a soul. I cannot live without her.”

The Moon gazed down at the woman and her stillborn child. It spoke at last, its voice distant and calm.

“What happened to your child?”

“I gave birth to her lifeless,” the woman replied, tears streaking her face. “I failed to protect her.”

“And if I refuse?” the Moon asked.

“Then I’ll die too,” the woman answered. Her voice broke as she continued. “I have no one left. My parents are gone, my friends abandoned me, and my husband ran away, leaving me with this child. She was all I had left to live for. I don’t want to lose her. Please, Mighty Moon, I beg you.”

Her knees buckled, and she clutched her child tightly, her tears falling in torrents as she cried out in despair. The Moon observed her in silence before finally speaking.

“I will help you,” It said, “but only on one condition. Your child will live as an ordinary person—healthy, happy, and free of trouble. But...”

“Anything!” the woman cried, hope rekindling in her eyes. “I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Your soul,” the Moon replied, “and her soul, too, when the time comes.”

The woman’s breath hitched. “What do you mean?”

“When your life ends, your soul will stay with me in the sky,” the Moon explained. “And when your child’s time comes, her soul and her family’s will follow.”

The woman hesitated, trembling. “After death, you will take my soul?”

“Yes,” the Moon said solemnly. “But I promise your child will live a good life.”

Tears streamed down the woman’s face. “Yes,” she whispered. “I agree. Just please, save my child.”

At her words, the lifeless child stirred. A tiny cry broke the silence, and the woman wept anew, clutching her daughter close in joy and gratitude. She bowed deeply, thanking the Moon over and over.

From that day on, the woman and her daughter lived happily, untouched by misfortune. The girl grew up, married, and started her own family, while her mother lived long enough to see her grandchildren. When the woman passed away, a star appeared in the sky for the first time.

The girl believed the star was her mother, watching over her.

The Moon, now accompanied by the light of stars, made a new rule: every soul it claimed would form a star in the night sky. And when a person’s life came to an end, their star would fall, reborn as a new life on Earth.

So, whenever a shooting star streaks across the heavens, it is said that a life has ended, and another has begun.

 

Tatsuki smiled softly. “What a beautiful legend.”

Harabi nodded, her gaze distant. “My mother used to tell me that when someone you love dies, they don’t truly leave. Every year, on the day of their passing, they send a sign, drifting across the sky.”

Tatsuki glanced at her friend. “So... you think that star—?”

Harabi’s voice was quiet but steady. “I believe it’s Meruka. She’s giving us a sign.”