The third day of the school trip began quietly. A thin veil of morning mist clung to the forested mountainside, casting a silvery hue over the tents. The chirping of birds stirred the students one by one, and soon the campsite was alive with the soft rustle of sleeping bags, yawns, and scattered footsteps.
Axel stepped out of his tent, rubbing his eyes, still thinking about last night's quiet walk under the stars with Emi. He hadn't said much—neither had she—but there had been something unspoken between them. A pause. A breath held. And he knew now more than ever that if Emi was part of LumeNoir, she had her reasons to keep it hidden. Whatever it was, he would protect that silence for her. Not out of curiosity anymore, but respect.
He caught Ito and Kyomi bickering over breakfast—again. Kyomi refused to eat the half-burnt toast Ito proudly handed her, saying it looked like "charcoal cosplay." Ito retorted that it was "cooked with soul." Axel smirked as he passed them, watching their chaotic harmony unfold like a performance they'd practiced for years.
Emi joined him moments later, carrying two mugs of warm cocoa. She handed one to Axel without a word, the steam curling gently into the morning air between them.
"You look like you didn't sleep," she said softly.
Axel chuckled. "Not much. Too many thoughts. The stars don't help."
She glanced away with a small smile, her hair catching the morning light. "Yeah… the stars can be loud sometimes."
Before he could answer, the teachers gathered everyone. Day 3's activities were to include a mountain hike and an evening showcase by the students. The hike would take them up a trail with a beautiful overlook, while the evening event was meant to be a casual mix of talents—music, stories, poetry, whatever they wanted.
It was Emi who suggested quietly that they all go up the trail together. Ito, already tying his boots, jumped at the idea. Kyomi rolled her eyes but agreed.
As they climbed the mountain trail, the conversations came and went in waves. Sometimes noisy with laughter, sometimes filled with the natural quiet of the woods. At one point, Kyomi pointed out a strange, forked tree and declared it "a cursed forest guardian." Ito immediately tried to climb it, nearly slipping, which had everyone bursting into laughter.
Emi walked just ahead of Axel, and he noticed how she looked around—attuned. Listening. Like every rustle of leaves or breeze through the trees was music. He wanted to ask her, How do you hear the world? But he didn't. He just walked with her.
At the top, the view was breathtaking. A valley stretched below them, the trees like a patchwork of green and golden fire. They stood there, quiet for a while, before heading back down.
The evening showcase was held in a clearing near the campfire. A few students performed skits, some read poems, and there was a duo that sang an upbeat pop song that had everyone clapping.
When Kyomi took the stage to recite a parody poem of Ito's morning toast cooking skills, laughter erupted again. And then, unexpectedly, Ito joined her, pretending to be a misunderstood chef defending his art. The teachers clapped the loudest.
Later, Axel stood to perform a short acoustic instrumental piece. He hadn't planned on it, but something pushed him forward. He borrowed a guitar from one of the students and let his fingers carry the emotions of the past few days—gentle chords, light strumming, a soft rhythm that slowed the air.
He didn't look up, but he felt Emi's eyes on him.
When he finished, the applause was warm, and he bowed with a smile, returning to his seat.
And then, Emi did something unexpected.
She walked to the center, holding a small notebook. Everyone hushed as she stood in the flickering firelight.
"I won't sing," she began quietly, "but I want to read something I wrote… a poem. Just a little one."
And she read. Her words were soft, lyrical, painted with the same hues as her music—the kind Axel had heard through LumeNoir's haunting songs.
The lines were about a girl who hid behind a veil of notes, and a boy who kept asking the silence to sing.
It wasn't confirmation. Not directly. But to Axel, it didn't need to be. He looked at her across the firelight, and when her eyes met his, there was a shared understanding—simple, silent, and honest.
As the night deepened and students returned to their tents, Axel sat by the dying fire a little longer, Emi beside him.
No words. No confessions. Just two people sitting in the warmth of flickering embers and the echo of what had been said without saying.
As the fire crackled and the stars began to bloom overhead, the camp quieted into a comfortable hush. Only a few silhouettes moved about, dim shapes slipping into their tents or whispering in the shadows. But Axel and Emi remained, the soft glow of embers lighting their faces as they sat side by side in the grass.
The forest around them breathed gently—crickets chirping, wind nudging through branches, the occasional rustle of something unseen in the underbrush. It was peaceful. Almost sacred.
"Your music earlier," Emi said at last, her voice no louder than a whisper. "It felt like… home."
Axel turned to her, surprised. "It's just something I've been working on. Nothing big."
"It doesn't have to be big to be honest," she replied, brushing her fingers over the dewy blades of grass beside her. "That's what makes it beautiful."
He looked at her for a moment, trying to read something between her words. But she was unreadable, her eyes lost in the firelight.
"I liked your poem," Axel said after a pause. "It… it kind of hit me, you know? The part about the boy who kept asking the silence to sing."
Emi smiled faintly. "Yeah. I thought maybe… he finally stopped asking."
He gave a breath of a laugh. "He did. Or… at least, he's learning to."
Silence settled again, not awkward, but easy. The kind where words weren't needed because the unspoken filled the air.
And then Emi did something unexpected—she leaned back into the grass, hands behind her head, eyes watching the stars.
Axel followed her lead, lying beside her, shoulder to shoulder, and they both watched as the night sky unfolded above them. Stars streaked across the heavens like ancient whispers, and for a moment, they both just existed—no secrets, no questions, no past.
"I used to watch the stars a lot," Emi murmured. "When I was younger. It made me feel like no matter how small I was, I was still a part of something big. Something... meaningful."
"Still do that?" Axel asked.
"Sometimes," she replied. "It's just harder to hear the stars when the world gets too loud."
Axel didn't respond right away. His gaze remained fixed on the sky, but he felt every word she said.
"You can always come here," he said softly, "when it gets loud. You don't have to say anything. Just… be here."
Her eyes flicked toward him, and her lips curved into a small, warm smile.
"Thanks, Axel."
They lay there for a little while longer, until the fire dwindled into glowing coals and the breeze started to grow colder. Eventually, they got up, brushing off grass and soil, and returned to their tents without another word.
That night, Axel fell asleep with a sense of clarity he hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe there were still questions. Maybe there were still secrets. But sometimes, the best thing to do wasn't to solve the mystery—but to be someone worthy of the truth when it's ready to be shared.
The next morning, the sun rose gently over the mountains, casting a golden light over the camp. The last day of the trip had arrived. But something had changed—not just in the air, but between the people who walked through it.
Kyomi was humming while packing her things, a rare soft look on her face. Ito offered her a hand, and for once, she took it without a snarky comment.
Emi smiled more easily. Axel noticed the way her shoulders weren't as tense, how she greeted the morning with a brightness that wasn't just the sun.
And Axel? He was content. No longer chasing shadows, but walking beside the light.