Time is her companion, patience her weapon. Lalande waits at the edge of eternity, watching for the return of something long lost. A century has passed since the Great War, yet she sits beneath Sol’s light, unyielding in her vigil, whispering promises to the dust and stars.

Procyon hears her whispers, every prayer, every plea. It is he who listens, storing her secrets in the vault of his heart. But he never speaks of what he knows, even when she asks.