Chapter Text
When Astral finds Ena, she’s staring out the window, but she turns as soon as he comes near.
“Ena,” he says, inclining his head in a bow.
Ena returns the gesture.
“Astral. How can I—”
“Will you take the Numeron Code?”
Ena blinks. Astral never learned to read the eyes of Astral beings like the eyes of humans, but her eyebrows lift, and her mouth opens for a few seconds before she speaks again.
“I … you want me to have the Numeron Code?”
Astral floats closer. He pictures every memory of Yuma’s determination, the conviction and belief that shone through to lift others up, and pushes it into his gaze.
“You’ve taken care of the people here more than anyone else. You’re willing to do what’s right, even if it isn’t what’s expected of you.” The corners of his mouth curl into the smallest of smiles. “I can’t think of anyone else in this world I would trust with it more.”
Ena stands taller.
“You’re leaving.”
Her voice is neutral, but Astral’s smile slips. “Yes.”
Ena’s lips curl upward. Her smile is like Kazuma’s, old and knowing. It’s hard to believe she works so much with Eliphas, when they have so little in common.
“I thought you might be.”
She closes the distance between them. He has known her for all his life, but she has only ever been an acquaintance. Someone to work with, but not to really know.
Her eyes are not human, but they are warm. Astral wonders how much of her Chaos is Yuma’s and how much is her own.
“You have done so much for this world, Astral. Far more than any of us could have hoped.” She smiles wider. “You are more than owed a chance to do something for yourself.”
Astral presses his lips together. Again, his chest twists. It’s good and warm and heavy and painful, and he doesn’t doubt his choice, but it still hurts.
“I’ll come back,” he says, perhaps too quickly. “If another threat arises, I’ll be there to help.”
Ena nods, smile unchanged.
“I know you will.” She gives him a longer look. Considering, perhaps. Kind. “The people of the Astral World are stronger now, and we have many more allies. We will not be helpless or alone if another battle begins.”
In his head, Astral sees the portal open in the sky, Yuma and Kotori and the Arclights and the Barians and Kaito all rushing in to help.
Once, Eliphas was the will of this world, and Astral was its warrior.
But this new world is different.
Roles change. And those who hold them can make their own choices.
Astral nods back. “Regardless … I will come here again.”
“I look forward to it,” Ena says. “Please give my best to Yuma.”
He opens his mouth to ask how she knows, but closes it a moment later.
He has time. She’s been an acquaintance for thousands of years. Perhaps, in this new world, they can be friends.
“Will you do one more thing for me?” he asks instead.
She tilts her head. “Of course.”
Astral looks over her shoulder, at the wide expanse of a world that has never really felt like home. Then he looks down at his hands, glowing the same shade as the floor below.
When he meets her eyes again, he’s smiling, and the most difficult choice he’s ever made becomes the simplest thing in the world.
*
Astral’s feet touch down. He stumbles, then falls to his knees.
The bustle around him pauses. Someone cries out. A few people rush over, asking questions he can’t make out. All Astral can do is put his hands on the ground to steady his balance.
The concrete is cold.
The air is cold, too, the chill soft and … refreshing? Is that the word? Like a breeze, but without wind. His hands flex against the concrete, and it scrapes his fingertips. He looks down at his hands. No longer a pale blue, but brown. Like Alit’s or Gilag’s.
Like the drawing Kotori made.
He runs his thumb over the pad of his index finger. Tiny ridges indent his skin. His fingertips are soft, and warm, and—
Thump. Thump.
A heartbeat.
He has a heartbeat.
He’s …
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Did something happen?”
“Should someone call an ambulance?”
“No, he doesn’t look hurt …”
Astral blinks and lifts his head.
Several people stand around him, staring. A woman holds her phone in her hand. A man steps closer and reaches out a hand. He opens his mouth, but can’t seem to decide what to say.
Astral looks back down at his hands.
Then he presses them to the ground and pushes up.
His legs wobble. He almost falls back to his knees, but catches himself and tries again. Kattobingu! Yuma’s voice says in his head. Kattobingu, his own voice says back.
He pushes the ground hard, shifts his weight to his feet, and stands.
He sways. His legs shake with the effort of holding him up—of holding anything when, in a sense, they’re brand new. He pulls out memories of Yuma trying not to fall off a railing while he walked along it. Astral holds out his arms, just like Yuma did. His legs still tremble, but he finds his center and holds himself straight.
The people shift backward, still staring. Still silent. The woman clutches her phone tighter, and Astral catches others watching from further away.
Then he looks around at where he landed.
The station plaza.
The place he first appeared in this world.
His lips twitch up, the movement different with real skin and muscles to guide it.
He didn’t tell Ena where to place him on Earth. But apparently the Numeron Code remembers the will of its most recent user.
His legs still tremble from the weight of his body, but they steady more each second. He shifts his right foot forward. His white shoe scrapes against the concrete. He lifts it and sets it down, a few centimeters ahead. He wobbles, but does not fall.
He moves his left foot the same way, a little further this time. Then his right. Then his left again.
Astral pictures Yuma’s easy stroll. The way he shifts his weight to keep his balance. Astral pulls up every quiet observation tucked away in his mind and moves his own body the same way. It’s awkward, shaky, and so many things are manual that for Yuma require no thoughts at all.
But he walks.
He walks forward, on his own two solid feet, and the people part to let him through.
No one calls after him. Perhaps they’re still in shock. Or perhaps the recent events with the Barian World have made a strange person appearing out of thin air something they can shrug off.
It doesn’t matter.
Because Astral is here, on Earth.
The clock on one of the buildings reads 3:46.
Yuma should already be on his way home from school.
And Astral has to catch up.
After a few minutes of watching, some part of his brain—something human and brand new—switches on, and the action becomes almost automatic. Like the breaths Astral pulls into his lungs, or the thump of the heart in his chest.
This body knows what to do, and the rest, Astral can learn.
Because he has time.
Because he has the best teacher he could ask for.
He doesn’t tell his legs to run, but his steps quicken, until his feet push off the ground and his arms pump faster at his sides. His legs burn, and his lungs sting, and his heartbeat is heavy. But it’s all real, tangible, and he basks in every second.
He runs along the roads he memorized months ago. The roads Yuma walked and Astral followed, to school and back home, to duels and outings with his friends, on casual strolls where they talked and talked and everything felt okay.
The air rushes against his face. It’s cold, but the sun is warm, and Astral breathes and moves and feels his feet heavy and solid when they touch the ground.
When he reaches the river, the sidewalk is empty. The path Yuma took every day—sometimes with Kotori and Tetsuo, or just Kotori, or alone, Astral floating at his side. Astral knows every detail of this path. Every plant growing along the bank. The colors of the sky reflected on the water.
It takes him far too long to notice the boy walking ahead of him.
Black hair. Pink bangs. School uniform, white and red and blue.
Astral’s breath comes in shallow huffs, but it still catches, then comes back in with a gasp. His mouth curls up. Something prickles, cold and sharp, at the corners of his eyes.
Yuma.
Yuma.
“Yuma!”
Yuma stops.
His head whips around, but Astral keeps running, he can’t stop, he just runs because Yuma is here, Yuma is here and Astral is here, they’re both here and—
“A-Astral?!”
Astral slams into him. Yuma wobbles and tilts back, and Astral barely wraps his arms around him and tugs them to the left before they fall.
They drop onto the grass along the bank and slide down before the friction stops them. Yuma’s weight presses on Astral’s left arm. Astral knows it should hurt. It will hurt, probably. Later. Later, he’ll be worried about Yuma’s barely-healed ribs and wrist, and apologize for not thinking about them. But right now, all Astral can do is squeeze Yuma tight.
“Astral?” Yuma manages. “What are you—how are you—”
Yuma’s hands flutter near his back. He’s warm. He’s warm and solid and so is Astral and Astral’s eyes are burning and it takes him far too long to feel the tears on his cheeks.
After a minute, Yuma pushes himself up, and Astral follows—slower, more awkward. He puts out a hand to steady himself and it slips on the grass, but Yuma keeps him upright. When they both sit, face to face, Astral touches Yuma’s shoulders. Gently at first, then more firmly.
It’s like before. Like grasping Yuma’s hand in a duel, or hugging him close in the Astral World.
But Astral’s first body wasn’t made to touch.
Astral’s new skin tingles at every point of contact. Freshly formed nerves register body heat and pressure and the texture of Yuma’s shirt and the bones of his shoulders beneath it.
They register Yuma’s heartbeat.
And Astral’s, almost matching it.
Yuma stares at him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Astral draws new air through his nose, and it smells of water and grass and cards and sweat. It smells of life.
“Yuma,” he says. His voice is different, too. More … solid? He doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter.
Yuma’s breath trembles on his exhale. “Astral.”
Astral blinks. The tears on his eyelids drip down his cheeks.
“I want to see Kotori go to fashion school.”
Yuma blinks. Once. Twice. “Huh?”
“I want to see Kaito and Haruto’s old house,” Astral goes on. His throat tightens. “I want to see the Arclights be a family again. I want to see what the Barians do with their new lives.”
His chest hurts. His heartbeat thunders. Everything he only recently learned how to feel is so different in this body. He can’t wait to learn it all again.
“I want to see you start high school, and become an adventurer, and duel champion of the world,” he says. “I want to eat more duel lunches. I want to get older and think about the future. I want to try chocolate parfaits and watch the seasons change and see the world and watch every episode of ESPer Robin and I want to spend every day at your side.”
Another few tears fall. He tracks their reflection in the whites of Yuma’s eyes.
“I want you to show me your future. I want to be with you when you get there.”
For a long moment, Yuma stares. Then he sucks in a gasp. His eyes shine brighter still.
“Astral, you’re … are you …?”
Astral squeezes Yuma’s shoulders. He feels skin and muscle and bone and pulse and warmth, and in his own hands, all of the same.
“I choose here, Yuma.” His smile trembles, and his chest squeezes, and happiness in this body is painful and overwhelming and perfect. “With you.”
Yuma’s mouth falls open. His eyes widen further than Astral has ever seen them. He blinks, then blinks again.
On the third blink, Yuma’s mouth wobbles. His tears fall, and his cheeks tug into a trembling smile.
“You’re … you’re really …?”
Astral’s eyes soften. He nods.
Yuma laughs, breathy and wet. Before Astral can think of something to say, Yuma throws himself forward and knocks Astral back to the ground. He squeezes him, so tight it hurts, but Astral savors it, savors the ache in his ribs, the weight on his torso, the grass tickling the back of his neck. Yuma’s heartbeat pounds against his chest, matched by Astral’s own.
Yuma presses his face into Astral’s shoulder. He laughs again, and again, and Astral feels his sobs with each huffed breath. Warm tears soak into his shirt. The sky is wide and blue above him, scarcely a cloud in sight. Astral closes his eyes and clutches Yuma tight, and the last of his tears drip off the sides of his face.
The minutes pass, and Astral doesn’t count them. Time ticks by, and this body might be mortal, with a lifespan only a fraction of what Astral has lived so far, but that time feels endless. A new world—a new life—stretches out before him, like the ocean vanishing on the horizon with the promise of what’s left to come.
Finally, Yuma’s laughs fade. He pulls back, hands on Astral’s shoulders, and looks at him. His eyes are red and wet. His bangs are rumpled. He smiles so big it looks like it hurts.
“Okay. Yeah,” he says, nodding. “We better get home.”
Home.
Yuma’s house.
Home.
Yuma gets to his feet, then holds out a hand. Astral takes it. Yuma pulls him up, grunting. He mutters something about Astral being too heavy now, but when Astral stands on steady feet, Yuma grins all over again.
Yuma grips his hand tighter, and together, they climb back up the bank. When they reach the sidewalk, Yuma lets go, only to throw that same arm around Astral’s shoulders and tug him close to his side. Astral lifts his arm and rests his hand on Yuma’s shoulder. He’s off balance now, tilted to the left, and his feet have to relearn how to walk with the change. He doesn’t mind at all.
He leans on Yuma, and Yuma leans on him, and they support each other with every step.
“So you’re really …” Yuma says, once they’ve found a steady pace. “… human?”
Astral’s smile twitches wider. “Yes.”
“For good?”
“For good.”
Yuma’s next breath sounds like a smile. He holds Astral tighter, and Astral tilts his head close.
They walk the path they’ve followed so many times, but now, when Yuma’s foot steps forward, Astral’s does the same.
When the house finally comes into view, Kazuma is standing in front of it, sweeping dust off the front walkway. Taking over the job his mother did, perhaps. Or perhaps this is what he always did before he was lost. Astral doesn’t know. It’s one of the many things he can find out.
Yuma lifts his free arm high.
“Dad!”
Kazuma looks up.
His eyes fall on Yuma, then on Astral. His easy smile grows into a wide grin, and he barks a laugh. He turns back toward the open front door.
“Mirai! Akari! Mom! You’ll want to come see this!”
Voices shout from inside. Footsteps bustle, then three more people step out onto the porch. “Dad, what happened?” Akari asks. She follows her father’s gaze, and her jaw falls open. “Wait, is that …”
Yuma laughs—so like his father, but also so like himself—and waves again, so hard he almost knocks Astral off his feet.
“Everyone, look! It’s Astral! Astral’s here! He’s staying here with us!”
Akari gawks. Yuma’s grandmother just smiles. Mirai does the same, and as her eyes shift from Yuma to Astral, her glowing affection does not change.
Kazuma looks back to Astral, eyes warm and smile soft. Like he’s welcoming an old friend home.
The ground is rough and solid beneath Astral’s feet. The air is cool. The world is sprawling and new. But Yuma’s arm, wrapped tight around his shoulders, guides him through it.
Their mission is complete. Their destiny has been fulfilled.
The future stretches out before them, infinite and unknown.
Astral doesn’t know what will happen. What he’ll do. What he’ll have to face.
But it will be good.
It will be sparkly and radiant.
Because, out of all his possible futures, this is the one where Yuma will be at his side.
Yuma steps forward, and Astral steps with him, and together, they move toward their home. Toward their future. Toward tomorrow and all the days to come after.
Toward the life that Astral chooses.
For Yuma.
And for himself.
*
“We’re going to get him back, right? Your most important thing.”
“Yeah!”
Wait for me, Astral. I’m coming to bring you home.