They sat near the crooked tree, the fire flickering against the wind. The tent stood awkwardly beside them, held together by stubborn fabric and cheap stakes. Night had settled, and the sky above was vast and unfamiliar.

Noen leaned back, eyes tracing the stars. “There are three moons here.”

Raven didn’t look up. “You’re surprised?”

“No, not really. In my solar system, we studied planets with multiple moons. But Earth in my world, only has one.”

Raven nodded. “That’s because your Earth doesn’t need more than one. If it had more, it would collapse into chaos.”

Noen smirked. “Actually, Earth once had two. Though the second wasn’t permanent.”

Raven scoffed. “Wrong. That was just a wandering asteroid caught by your moon’s gravity. You humans love half-truths.”

Noen shrugged. “Some people really enjoy giving half of the information right before the other half. We call it clickbait.”

Raven blinked. “Humans from your world are especially easy to deceive.”

Noen sighed. “Fair point.”

A gust of wind swept through the camp, making the fire stutter and the tent flap like a tired wing. Noen adjusted the flame, tapping his cheap stove.

“Good thing shelter is considered a human right,” he muttered.

“Of course,” Raven said.

Noen raised a hand. “Okay, okay. You don’t have to start mocking my hypocritical world again.”

Raven tilted his head. “Then why do you love it, when it nearly let you rot alive?”

Noen didn’t answer right away. The fire crackled between them, soft and uneven.

“Before that,” he said quietly, “I want to ask you something, how old are you?”

Raven blinked. “My age? In your world’s years? I’ve never really cared about that. I’m immortal.”

“I knew it,” Noen said. “Only immortals would fail to grasp why short-lived humans cling so tightly to their stories.”

Raven narrowed his eyes. “How did you know I’m immortal?”

“Well,” Noen said, “ravens usually live around fifteen years. That’s about a quarter of a human lifespan in my world. But when we first spoke, you mentioned taking care of others before me. No one with a limited lifespan would bother managing something as troublesome as humans.”

“Not from my knowledge of this planet’s ancient history?”

“You could’ve learned that from Thoth before meeting me.”

Raven blinked. “Fair enough. You’re unusually clever tonight.”

“Thanks. So, do you want to answer your own question now?”

Raven nodded. 

“Short lives force humans to build places to store everything—memories, knowledge, emotions. Only by recognizing the value of each person’s story can humanity evolve beyond its limits. No matter how broken the world is, there’s always a point of light in someone’s tale.”

“I don’t really understand why that matters.”

“Maybe because you’ve never seen human stories from the echo level. Watch how they struggle. It’s not glamorous—there’s no success in sight—but their fight to live is what proves that no one truly wants to fail.”

Raven fell silent.

The quiet made him realize: even a creature as small as a speck in the galaxy could have a story worth fighting for.

That night passed quietly. The cold wind didn’t disturb the warmth inside the tent. Nothing special happened.

The next morning, they packed up to continue their journey.

Noen, who had never truly fought before, began to worry about the idea of facing wild creatures.

“Do we really have to fight?” he asked. “I mean… I’ve never done this before. Can’t we take a detour?”

“No,” Raven replied. “You have no idea how wide their habitat is. If we detour, we’d have to cross that mountain over there to stay safe.” He pointed west with his wing. “That would add about three days.”

“Is there something we need to reach within five days?”

“Actually, seven days exactly after we left Thanaven. There’s something we can’t afford to miss.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Maybe there, you’ll gain your second story power. Besides, if we avoid this just because you’ve never fought before… how long will we keep running?”

Noen fell silent, caught between fear and excitement.

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