Rad’s breath came slow, steady. Shallow. His eyes fluttered open, eyelashes damp, lids heavy with exhaustion. A soft glow painted his vision in hues of blood red and silver. He squinted, blinking against the surreal haze as the world gradually came into focus.


    Above him, the twin suns hung in the sky, low and distant, peeking through a sea of endless cloud cover. One sun burned pale gold—cool and mellow—while the other was a deeper orange, like a slowly dying ember. Together, they cast a muted, dreamlike light across the sky, diffused through layers of drifting grey and red clouds that swirled with unnatural beauty.


    Rad lay still for a moment, dazed, his thoughts slow and scattered. Then he felt it. Weight.


    He looked down—and his heart stilled. Ray’s lifeless robotic body rested on his chest, his limbs still limp, his head tilted slightly to one side. His once-vibrant cybernetic eyes were dim, flickering faintly every few seconds like crimson dying stars. His metal shell, once pristine and starkly divided, now glowed faintly with crimson veins, delicate like cracks in old porcelain.


    Rad’s expression softened, the shock fading into a quiet ache in his chest. “…Ray,” he whispered.


    He reached up, brushing a hand lightly over the boy’s shoulder, as if afraid to disturb him. What happened after the fall? Is Ray really gone? Rad thought to himself in silence.


    Rad slowly turned his head and finally noticed the surface beneath him—soft, warm, strangely solid yet impossibly light. He blinked in confusion.


    He was laying on a massive cloud—but not a normal one. It stretched for miles in all directions, wide and slow-moving, made of crimson vapor that gently pulsed with faint magical energy.


    The half beneath his right side was dark crimson, deep and rich, like aged wine or dried blood. The left half was light crimson, airy and soft, like a rose petal under sunlight.


    Rad furrowed his brow in wonder. He slowly lifted one hand and scooped a piece of the cloud into his palm.


    It floated there, weightless, cool like mist yet solid like silk. It shimmered faintly between his fingers, bleeding tiny red particles into the air. “…It’s like cotton candy from a dream,” he murmured.


    But then—slowly, softly—the piece of cloud began to dissolve, pulled away by the breeze. The threads unraveled in his hand, turning into glittering crimson dust that drifted upward like fireflies returning to the sky.


    He watched in silence as the last speck disappeared into the clouds above. Then… “Finally awake, huh?”


    The voice came soft and quiet, just beside him. Rad’s eyes widened slightly. He turned his head to the left—and saw her, Vel.


    She lay there beside him on the lighter half of the cloud, her body still, her gaze cast upward. Her usual chaotic spark was gone. The laughter, the taunts, the fire—all replaced by a quiet, fragile stillness.


    Her freckled cheeks were stained with dry, silvery tear tracks, and her wild hair was damp, clinging to her skin as light rain fell from the clouds above. Her crimson aura was gone, faded completely, as if extinguished by sorrow.


    She didn’t look at him. “Almost didn’t catch you in time,” she said quietly, as though the words were slipping from her lips unbidden.


    Rad opened his mouth, struggling for something to say. The sight of her like this—so still, so quiet—was wrong. Jarring. It made his throat tighten.


    “V-Vel?” he finally managed, voice cracking. “What… what is this? What happened?”


    Vel didn’t answer. Not right away.


    The two of them lay there, side by side in silence, the only sound the soft rhythm of magical rain pattering gently against their skin. It soaked into their clothes, their hair, their hearts. The droplets shimmered faintly, tinged with unseen enchantments, carrying emotions they couldn’t name.


    Then—Vel stirred. Her eyes, still fixed on the sky, narrowed just a little.


    Up above them, far beyond the drifting cloud they lay on, a parade of magical creatures danced through the misty heavens. They came in groups—pairs, trios—moving in fluid, graceful arcs through the twin sun’s glow like painted brushstrokes on a living canvas.


    A pair of translucent skywhales, each trailing flowing strands of golden light from their fins, moved in perfect synchrony, their bodies curving as if swimming through a celestial ocean.


    A trio of ember-winged phoenix deer, with antlers made of stardust and feathers that shimmered between red, gold, and indigo, galloped across the air like windborne fire. Small flocks of glowfin doves, with luminous fins instead of wings, flickered in and out of visibility as they phased gently through cloud layers, cooing in harmony.


    And farther off, barely visible, a group of driftwood serpents—long, sinuous beings of vine and smoke—coiled slowly through the skies, their glowing eyes soft and ancient. They all moved together in quiet peace. Graceful. Unified. Unaware.


    Blissfully unaware of the two broken-hearted kids lying far below them on a lonely crimson cloud. Vel’s eyes tracked the creatures but never truly saw them.


    She blinked slowly. Her voice, when it returned, was small and tired.


    “…they all have someone,” she whispered. “Even up there.”


    Rad didn’t know what to say. So he said nothing at first.


    A heavy silence lingered between the two children as the magical rain continued to fall, soaking into the crimson cloud beneath them. The gentle pattering of droplets filled the void between their words, whispering secrets neither of them wanted to speak aloud.


    Rad swallowed. His eyes flicked to the side, toward the strange creatures gliding through the sky, then back down to the lifeless weight of Ray resting against his chest. Then, quietly—hesitantly—he broke the silence. “…What do you mean?” he asked, voice barely more than a breath.


    Vel didn’t answer at first. Her eyes remained skyward, her expression still carved from silence and stone. But when she finally spoke, her voice had sharpened—not cruel, but colder. Sadder. Raw.


    “You know what I mean, Rad.” Her gaze drifted from the clouds above and landed squarely on him. The rain clung to her lashes, streaking fresh trails down already-stained cheeks.


    Her voice grew softer again, but her words landed like hammer-blows. “You and me… we’re the same.”


    Rad’s brow furrowed. The words struck something inside him—a fragile place he kept walled off behind jokes, grumbling, and bitter sarcasm. His throat tightened. He met her eyes—and instantly regretted it.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Vel stared into him. Really stared. Her eyes weren’t glowing, weren’t lit by aura or fire or magic—they were just human. Sad. Knowing. Clear.


    It was like she could see past his skin, through his mask, into every aching corner of his soul. Rad’s breath caught. He quickly turned away, gaze darting down at Ray instead. “You don’t know anything about me,” he muttered defensively.


    Vel didn’t look away. She didn’t flinch.


    “I don’t have to,” she said calmly. “I can feel it. In your soul.” She turned her eyes back to the sky, watching the families of magical creatures drift above them like memories that had never belonged to either of them.


    “You yearn for love,” she said quietly. “Just like I do.”


    Rad’s frown deepened. “I’m not into romance,” he said stiffly, waving a hand as if to physically push the notion away.


    But his voice cracked a little—just enough. He glanced down at Ray again, his eyes clouding. His vision becoming watery. “…Could care less about anyone anyway,” he muttered, half-hearted, hollow.


    Vel didn’t react at first. Then—softly, with quiet conviction—she said: “Not romance… connection.”


    Rad’s eyes widened, just barely. Vel raised her hand and pointed to the sky. Her voice trembled, not from weakness, but from truth—a truth she had carried alone for too long.


    “All my life… I’ve been alone,” she said. “No parents. No siblings. No friends. Just me. Just… Vel, the weird fairy girl who talks too much and makes things explode.”


    A bitter smile tugged at her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “No matter how hard I tried… no matter how bright I shined or how many jokes I told, I was always…” Her voice cracked slightly. “…seen, but never wanted. Always around—but never invited.”


    She closed her eyes. Her fingers curled into the cloud beneath her as her shoulders trembled faintly under the rainfall.


    “People would laugh when I made them laugh,” she whispered, “but when they were done, they’d always leave. Like I was some… spark that fizzled out.”


    Rad didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His face remained stoic, lips pressed into a tight line—but his eyes… his eyes softened.


    Just slightly. Because as Vel spoke, memories began to rise like ghosts from the back of his mind. Memories he never invited, but which haunted him just the same.


    He saw himself, small and bruised, curled in the corner of his bedroom as his own mother screamed through the walls like a feral animal—her voice broken, slurred, and furious. The ache in his ribs. The sting across his cheek. The echo of shattered glass.


    The silence afterward, louder than the shouting. His fingers trembled. Then came another memory—one colder, but no less sharp.


    Kite’s laugh, ringing through the crumbling streets of the undercity outside the school. Ava beside him, both of them radiant and unaware as they walked.


    Rad, standing by the ancient cracked stairs outside the school’s doors, watching them from the shadows as they walked off—joking, smiling, their voices drifting like the creatures above them now.


    “I’m just a hero for the socially inept everywhere!” Kite had laughed, beaming with that wide grin that used to always make Rad’s chest twist. And still… they had never noticed him standing there. Just like all the others never noticed.


    Another memory rose—a hundred small moments stitched into one. Lunchtime. Rad sitting alone with his tray, eyes fixed on his food, ears full of laughter that never belonged to him. All around him, kids grouped in pairs and circles—talking, playing, connecting.


    And him? Just watching. Just… existing.


    Always on the edge of things—a shadow at the edge of every circle, a silent witness to joy that never quite reached him. His lunch tray almost always untouched for too long, his longing eyes flicking from table to table, never settling, never invited.


    Always with a scowl on his face—a mask he’d learned to wear like armor. One that kept people away before they could decide he wasn’t worth the trouble.


    And beneath that scowl, buried deep and quiet, was a painful, breath-stealing longing—like a weight pressed against his ribs. A quiet ache that grew louder the more he watched others laugh, hug, belong.


    It was the kind of hurt that didn’t bruise the skin but bruised the soul, leaving a hollow behind that no amount of pretending could fill. He’d tell himself he didn’t care.


    That he was better off alone. That they didn’t matter.


    But deep down? He would’ve given anything for someone to sit beside him. To see him. To choose him. Even just once.


    Vel’s voice cut gently through the storm of Rad’s thoughts, quiet and steady like a thread pulled across glass. “That’s how I know you’re afraid…”


    She trailed off, her gaze drifting back up to the creatures in the sky, her eyes distant, almost shimmering as they reflected the movement of wings and glowing trails above. Rad turned toward her slowly, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, heart pounding from a place far deeper than adrenaline.


    Vel continued, her voice barely above the hush of the magical rain. “Afraid of getting hurt. Of being abandoned.”


    The words fell like raindrops across a wound Rad had tried to keep stitched shut for years. His breath caught.


    Just for a second. A hitch, barely audible, but real.


    He turned his head away, eyes narrowing—but not in anger. In defense. In vulnerability. Like a boy trying not to break in front of someone who might actually care.


    They lay in silence for a long moment. The cloud beneath them gently pulsed with their breathing, rising and sinking like a shared heartbeat. Rad’s lips trembled. He blinked up at the sky, the tears pooling at the edges of his eyes threatening to spill. His throat tightened. His chest ached.


    He let out a shaky breath—then finally spoke. “…You’re right,” he whispered, voice raw and small.


    His eyes traced the sky again—the families of phoenix-deer, the skywhales, the glowing doves. All flying close. All together.


    “I am afraid,” he said. He swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “All my life, I’ve been on my own. I had no one but myself. And a mom who…” He paused, closing his eyes for a second. “Who cursed me just for being born.”


    He thought of Kite—his easy smile, his laugh, the way he could win people over without trying. He thought of Kite’s parents, how they hugged him, cooked for him, loved him without conditions.


    Rad’s voice softened. “Until recently… I didn’t know what it felt like to be seen. To be treated like I… mattered.”


    He turned his head toward Vel again, slowly. Their eyes met.


    No masks. No biting words. Just truth, shared between two souls who had carried far too much alone. “…We are the same,” he said quietly.


    Vel’s breath hitched. Her eyes widened, shimmered with something caught between heartbreak and hope.


    Rad’s expression softened further. He broke their gaze only to look back at the sky.


    “But I’m not ready for all that fate stuff,” he admitted, his voice smaller now. “The world may want me to be something… big. Some kind of chosen hero or whatever.”


    He sighed. “But right now… I just wanna be a kid.”


    Vel’s heart sank at those words. She sat up slightly, eyes searching his expression.


    “But why…?” she asked, her voice almost breaking. “Don’t you want to matter? Don’t you want your life to have purpose?”


    Rad didn’t respond at first. His eyes lingered on the sky—on those peaceful creatures still drifting above, still flying in pairs and flocks, as if untouched by the storms below.


    And then, finally, he nodded. “…Yeah,” he said quietly. “I used to think that was all that mattered. That if I didn’t have a purpose, I didn’t have a reason to exist.”


    He looked down at Ray, still unmoving in his arms. His voice cracked again—but this time, there was no shame in it. “But now… I think there’s more to life than that.”


    Slowly, carefully, Rad shifted and rose to his feet. The cloud dipped beneath him as he stood, its soft, warm mass giving slightly under his weight. Ray’s small body remained cradled gently in his arms, like something too precious to let go of.


    He looked at Vel once more. She met his gaze.


    Her eyes weren’t demanding anymore. Just hopeful. Pleading, quietly.


    Rad’s face relaxed into something rare—a calm, genuine smile, not forced, not sarcastic. He extended one hand toward her.


    “Let’s just be friends,” he said softly. “No fate stuff.”


    Vel stared at his hand for a long moment, unmoving. The rain fell gently against her cheeks again as she blinked, and a small, quiet sniffle escaped her. Her gaze dropped to the crimson cloud below her, watching the faint glow pulse beneath her fingers.


    Then—slowly, tentatively—she raised her hand into the air. Rad’s smile didn’t falter. He gently reached forward and grasped her wrist, helping her to her feet.


    The cloud shifted again as they stood together. For the first time, they were not at odds. Not chasing, not running. Just… standing. Together.


    Vel wiped her cheeks with her forearm, her voice barely above a whisper. “…I’ll convince you one day,” she said, her smile faint but real. “You’ll take my hand eventually.”


    Rad paused—then gave a quiet chuckle, looking down at Ray’s still face before glancing back up at her. “Just—no more kidnapping babies, please. I’ve got a school project.”


    Vel laughed weakly at that, and a small smile crept onto her lips. She looked at him sideways, water still beading on her eyelashes. “No promises.”


    They stood in silence, but it wasn’t empty anymore. It wasn’t lonely.


    And for the first time in a long time—they both felt seen. Above them, the magical creatures soared through the clouds in their quiet, beautiful families. Below them, the crimson cloud drifted on—two souls atop it, carrying the beginning of something new.


    A bond, fragile but real. A spark of connection in a world that had so often ignored them both.


    And for now… that was enough.