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A few days after Chapter 5 revelations, and Eclipse’s full recovery from the Mimeosome Maintenance Center—
Elma hunched over her comm device, flicking through coordinates so fast the screen lagged. Her jaw was tight, finger drumming a restless beat against the device.
Where could that Lifehold Core be?
Footsteps pounded down the hall—too quick, too uneven to be anything but trouble.
Elma glanced up. Of course—it was her wildcard, Eclipse.
Relief loosened her chest for half a second. Good. Still walking, still loud. Still functional.
But something was wrong.
Eclipse wasn’t just loud—she was rattled, eyes wide, movements too sharp.
“Rook?” Elma’s voice had a touch of concern. “Are you alright?”
Eclipse let out a dramatic sigh.
“NO! I cannot live like this anymore!”
She stormed over to the window, threw it open, and started to climb halfway out.
Elma’s chair screeched back as she lunged, heart stopping. “ECLIPSE—NO!!”
Eclipse reached just past the sill, grabbed a hidden stash of protein shakes nestled in the cold breeze, and popped one open casually.
“Ahhh. Still nice and cold.” Eclipse sipped her shake.
She glanced over to the side, noticed the cap she threw didn’t make it into the bin. She walked over and dropped it in neatly.
“Still gonna be neat and tidy.” Eclipse nodded.
Elma’s breath snagged in her throat, hand still locked on the sill like it could anchor her against what she thought she’d just seen.
“...”
Eclipse looked over to Elma with total sincerity. “What? I needed a win today.”
She continued drinking her protein shake. “Mmmmmm. Dark-choco swirl. Dark, like my soul. Hits the trauma spot.”
Lin entered with a half eaten sandwich. She stopped cold at the sight of her team leader—ashen-faced and rigid.
“Elma? Are you okay? You look like you just got hit by a Skell.”
Elma had barely recovered. “She climbed out the window. I thought she was going to jump.”
Lin whiplashed. “Wait—WHAT!?”
Eclipse cheerfully held up her drink. “No worries! I was just retrieving my emotional support protein shake. I keep it chilled. Nature’s fridge, baby.”
Lin’s jaw dropped. “…You gave our team leader a heart attack for that?”
“No. I gave her a bonding opportunity. You’re welcome.”
Elma was still shaken. “I have aged over 50 years…”
Lin was flabbergasted. “You owe her a spa voucher. Or, like, a week of peace.”
Eclipse grinned. “I’ll throw in a juice box too. The real kind. Not wine this time. Probably.”
She continued with a nonchalant shrug. “Besides, I can’t die yet, Boss. Can’t help you and the rest of BLADE find the Lifehold Core if I’m out of commission. And hey—wouldn’t wanna bother the mimeosome maintenance center right after they did a good job fixing me, right?”
---
A few hours later
Sniffle. Sniffle.
Muffled cries could be heard from a supply closet in BLADE HQ.
Elma stopped when she heard them. She sighed, already knowing.
“Rook? It’s me.” She knocked softly on the door.
More sniffles were heard.
“May I come in?”
“It’s occupied.” Eclipse hiccupped.
“Eclipse…” Elma gently prodded.
The door opened a little.
Elma entered and closed it behind her.
She looked over to Eclipse, sitting down on a makeshift seat using multiple buckets.
Through the blur of tears, Eclipse searched her team leader’s face—and found nothing sharp there.
No judgment.
Not even a flicker.
“We need to fire the cleaning department.” Eclipse showed Elma the towel she was using to stem the tears. “Because clearly these towels haven’t been washed.”
Elma sighed, but not maliciously. “Rook. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the mimeosome situation earlier.”
“I’m fine,” Eclipse responded quickly. “I’m not crying about that.”
“Oh?” Elma tilted her head. “Is something else wrong then?”
“I—”
Eclipse could sense it… it was all starting to come back.
Back again…
The rain…
Starfall Basin…
Lost…
Alone...
Amnesiac…
Barely human…
Again…
Who…am I?
“I don’t know…” Eclipse shook her head. “I don’t know anything anymore…I…”
Eclipse started to hyperventilate.
“I don’t even know who I was before Starfall Basin. I don’t…I can’t remember anything…I don’t…remember anyone I loved, anyone who loved me…there’s no one to hold onto…
“All I remember is the rain on metal, the panic of not knowing my own name.
“I forgot the flank—I almost got Gwin killed! And you—would Lin make that mistake?!
“I thought—I thought I was getting it—figuring it out—then my arm—blown off—fuck—and all this time I’m just a machine! Just some thing pretending—!!”
“Eclipse…” Elma started.
“YOU DONT GET IT ELMA!!!” Eclipse snapped back. “You knew all this time…you HAVE memories to fall back on—memories of loved ones to fall back to… what do I have!!???
Elma flinched.
But Eclipse continued.
“I don’t… I can’t do this …I’m useless! I’M NOTHING!!
“ I BARELY remember my own life on Earth, and now suddenly I learn we are on a time fucking limit for humanity itself!?”
Elma immediately hugged Eclipse, steadying her.
Eclipse continued in anguish in Elma’s arms.
“What AM I, Elma!? The only person I know who’s in the same boat as me is Yelv.”
Eclipse’s voice broke on his name.
Silence.
Save for Eclipse’s trembling breaths.
“I know. I know.” Elma said softly.
“He doesn’t even remember who he was ,” Eclipse’s voice cracked. “All he has to remember is his friend who is in pieces across Mira.
“I’m scared I’m going to end up just… data. A copy. A thing someone else made and forgot about. Or just some parts someone slapped together and said, ‘Hey, let’s see if the experiment works.’”
She curled in tighter into Elma, fingers clutching her like a lifeline.
The only tether Eclipse felt she had left.
“Eclipse… You are scared. And you are hurting.” Elma gently reassured her. “But you are not just data. Or code. Or a thing.
“You ARE a person.
“I know it every time you laugh, every time you throw yourself in harm’s way for your team, every time you show up for us even when you’re hurting—
“Every time you get mad when someone leaves the coffee machine on ‘clean’ mode. You snort when you laugh too hard—even if you pretend you don’t. You grieve. You hope . You love .”
Elma took a breath.
“You may not know who you were before Starfall Basin. But you do get to choose who you are and who you bond with after it.”
Eclipse didn’t respond. She still trembled, but was listening.
Elma’s voice softened even more.
“You’re Eclipse. My teammate. My friend. And you don’t have to figure it all out alone.”
Eclipse’s breathing slowed, no longer ragged.
Just quiet. Just tired.
“You…really think I’m still a person?” Eclipse muffled.
“I know you are.” Elma gently reassured her.
Neither let go.
“Even if I’m not built like one?” Eclipse mumbled.
Elma’s hand stilled, guilt flickering—but her hold stayed steady.
“That… doesn’t change what you are. Not to me. Not to anyone who cares about you.”
Eclipse exhaled shakily. Her body started to relax.
“...Thanks, Boss.”
Elma smiled…but was faint.
Almost distant.
“You don’t have to call me that right now.”
“Okay…Elma.”
Another pause.
Then, Eclipse leaned back just a little, eyes red but clearer. She looked up at Elma—genuinely seeing her.
“Why’re you being so nice to me? Is it because you need me alive? To fight? To find the Core?”
“Because I understand more than you think.”
Elma’s fingers brushed her own arm, almost unconsciously, before she stilled them.
“And because…” A hidden weight, beneath it all. “I know what it’s like to live in a body that doesn’t feel like it’s yours.
“Even when you chose it.”
Eclipse tilted her head.
Elma didn’t elaborate further. She just stood up, and reached out her hand to Eclipse.
“Come on. Let’s get out of the supply closet before someone mistakes us for cleaning droids.”
Eclipse wiped her face. “Pff. Yeah. Would ruin my street cred.”
“What street?” Elma playfully quipped.
“Exactly.” Eclipse snorted.
They stepped out into the hallway together. The light felt a little softer now.
Things weren’t fixed.
But they were okay for today.
Elma lingered behind as she watched Eclipse walk ahead—steps steadier, shoulders just a little less heavy.
The hallway was quiet again.
Elma’s hand lingered on the doorframe.
“Elma…” She whispered.
“You are one big hypocrite.”
She exhaled, closed the door quietly, and followed her wildcard down the hall.