The sky was already turning gray-blue when they left the aristocrat town.
The lights behind them grew brighter as the sun fell lower, but Aero didn't look back. He adjusted Lina higher on his back and followed the familiar broken road home, his feet moving on memory more than sight.
The locket rested against his chest.
It didn't glow again.
That almost bothered him more.
"Your heart is loud," Lina said suddenly.
Aero blinked. "What?"
"I can hear it," she murmured, cheek pressed to his back. "It's thump-thump fast."
Aero slowed his steps without meaning to.
"…Sorry," he said.
"Why?"
"I don't know," he admitted.
That seemed to satisfy her. Lina yawned, arms loosening, trust complete and careless. She always fell asleep like that—right when he needed her to stay awake the most.
Aero kept walking.
The ruins welcomed them back with their usual silence. Wind passed through hollow buildings. Loose metal tapped softly somewhere far away. The smell of dust and cold stone wrapped around them again.
Home.
Inside the half-destroyed house, Aero set Lina down gently and covered her with the blanket. She curled up immediately, fingers clutching the edge like she was afraid it might disappear.
He watched her for a moment.
Then his hand drifted to his chest.
The locket.
Aero sat down cross-legged on the floor and pulled it out again. In the dim light, it looked ordinary—scratched metal, simple shape, nothing special.
"You lit up," he whispered. "Why?"
The locket didn't answer.
He turned it over in his fingers, remembering the floating lines, the glowing shapes. He didn't understand maps, but he understood one thing clearly:
That thing hadn't been meant for a kid like him.
Someone, somewhere, had expected a different life for Aeron .
Aero pressed his lips together and tucked the locket back under his shirt.
"Doesn't matter," he said quietly. "I still have work tomorrow."
Days passed.
Then weeks.
The locket stayed quiet.
Life didn't.
Aero polished shoes.
He learned which guards ignored him and which ones didn't.
He learned which customers talked too much and which ones never spoke at all.
Lina learned how to braid string, how to hum broken songs, how to count coins up to ten and then start over.
Sometimes it rained, and they stayed home, sharing bread and stories Aero made up on the spot. Stories where the world wasn't broken—just messy.
Sometimes food was less.
Those nights were quieter.
Aero grew stronger without noticing. His arms stopped shaking when he carried water. His steps grew steadier. His eyes started watching things other kids didn't—exits, patterns, people who looked too long.
The world was teaching him.
Slowly.
One night, months later, the locket glowed again.
Not bright.
Just enough.
Aero was awake when it happened. Lina slept beside him, curled close. The blue light seeped through his shirt like moonlight through clouds.
This time, he didn't panic.
He waited.
When he pressed the side, the map appeared again—but something was different.
A small point pulsed faintly at the edge of the ruins.
Not home.
Not the town.
Somewhere else.
Aero stared at it for a long time.
"…I can't go," he whispered.
The map didn't change.
He closed it again, heart steady but heavy.
"Later," he repeated. "When I'm bigger." i go to that place .
Years would pass before he understood what that point meant.Before the map would stop being just light and lines.
The time has finally arrived.