Lumina Springs Sanctuary – Part II
"Where light learns to rest."
For a long while, they simply existed there on the balcony—bare feet on warm stone, shoulders together, watching their own symbols cross and mingle in the sky.
The sanctuary seemed in no hurry to move them along. The air stayed at that perfect middle temperature where the body forgets how to be tense. The breezes came and went like slow breaths, carrying hints of citrus, jasmine, and distant mineral springs.
At some point, Sunbeam realized that the restless tug in his chest—the invisible thread that always pulled him toward the next crisis—had gone quiet.
He drew in a slow breath, held it, and let it go.
Moonbeam felt the subtle change beside her. "There," she murmured. "That is the sound of the world not ending for five minutes."
"Feels unnatural," he said, but the edge in his voice had softened. "Pleasant. But unnatural."
The stone under their soles gave a tiny, almost amused pulse, as if the sanctuary itself were listening.
A gentle chime sounded at the edge of the balcony. They turned to see a faint sigil ignite in the doorway—two overlapping circles of light, one sun-gold, one moon-silver, turning in opposite directions.
A familiar voice floated through hidden speakers, tinged with Galaxbeam's dry humor.
"Phase Two is available," he said. "Optional, of course. The Council insisted I use that word. For the record, medically speaking, I recommend it."
Moonbeam raised an eyebrow. "He's eavesdropping."
"He always is," Sunbeam replied. "But if this is half as effective as Phase One, I'm not arguing."
They exchanged a glance. Neither had any desire to rush back into armor just yet.
"Let's see what else he and Starbeam have built for us," Moonbeam said.
They stepped back inside. The marble floor lit beneath their feet, Solar and Lunar sigils blooming under each step like soft, luminous footprints that faded after they passed. Another door in the treatment room slid open with a whisper, revealing a descending corridor washed in dim, blue-gold light.
Barefoot and relaxed, they followed.
The corridor opened into a chamber that felt at once spacious and intimate—a circular hall whose walls were a seamless dome of starfields. Constellations drifted slowly along the curve, shifting between familiar Titanumas formations and more abstract Galaxy Regime geometries. In the center of the room lay a wide, perfectly still pool.
It was not water—not exactly. The surface was so dark it seemed to swallow light, yet starpoints glimmered within it as though an entire night sky had been poured into a basin. Around the pool's edge, low stone platforms curved like petals, each layered with plush, towel-soft mats.
A holographic sigil hovered above the pool, displaying a simple label:
CONSTELLATION IMMERSION – EMOTIONAL RESONANCE SUITE
Phase Two: Whole-Body Relaxation & Neural Debrief – AES Absolute Protocol
Moonbeam let out a quiet breath. "They made us a star-bath."
"Of course they did," Sunbeam said. "Galaxy Regime doesn't know how to do anything halfway."
A soft voice materialized from the air—a different tone than the attendants from earlier. This one was gentle but slightly mechanical; the Sanctuary's own AI avatar.
"Welcome to Phase Two," it said. "This chamber calibrates to your emotional and physical states. You may enter clothed or request immersion garments. Contact with the Constellation Pool is completely safe. You will float supported at all times."
"Garments," Moonbeam said quickly. "Soft. Minimal. Non-restrictive."
"Request acknowledged," the AI replied.
A shimmer passed over their skin.
In place of their lounge garments, they now wore simple immersion attire woven from light itself: Sunbeam in a snug, short tunic and close-fitting shorts of pale gold that moved like liquid fabric; Moonbeam in a similarly minimal, flowing two-piece of deep midnight blue that hugged comfortably without feeling tight. The material had no seams and weighed nothing, yet felt reassuringly real to the touch.
"We're being dressed by photons," Sunbeam remarked.
"Luxurious photons," Moonbeam said, smoothing a hand along her side. "Very considerate ones."
The pool's edge glowed faintly.
"Please approach," the AI invited. "Begin with the feet, as before."
Of course, Sunbeam thought. They really are determined to undo the last few centuries of abuse down there.
He stepped to the brink, Moonbeam at his side.
Up close, the surface of the Constellation Pool looked like the sky on the deepest, clearest night: a rich, velvety darkness shot through with drifting galaxies, comet-streaks, and slow, pulsing nebulas. A faint warmth rose from it, interlaced with cool currents like the breath of space.
He extended one foot and let his toes break the surface.
The sensation was strange and exquisite—not wet, not dry, but somewhere between. The substance yielded like thick water, but without resistance; it accepted his foot fully, surrounding his skin in a delicate pressure that felt supportive rather than clinging.
"It's..." He searched for the word. "Like sinking into a cloud that forgot how to be air."
Moonbeam dipped her own toes in beside his, her expression softening. "It feels like starlight that learned to be gentle."
Together, they stepped forward.
The pool embraced their ankles, then their calves, sliding up in slow, even caresses. Every point it touched loosened some new pocket of tension, not only in muscle but in the nerves behind it. Their minds seemed to quiet with each centimeter of descent, as if the Constellation Pool were absorbing static and returning stillness.
"Recommend reclined float posture," the AI prompted. "Let go. You will not sink."
They exchanged a look. Trust had never been an issue between them. Trusting a semi-sentient star-bath was new, but nothing in Lumina Springs had hurt them yet.
"On three?" Sunbeam asked.
Moonbeam nodded. "One. Two. Three."
They stepped off the solid floor together.
There was a brief moment of weightlessness, of instinctive alarm at the loss of footing.
Then the pool caught them.
The starlit substance cradled their bodies, distributing support perfectly along their backs, legs, and arms. It held their heads just above the surface without need for effort. They floated side by side, suspended in an endless, softly humming night.
Their feet drifted slightly deeper, toes embedded in denser currents that kneaded those freshly treated soles with an almost playful tenderness.
Above them, the dome shifted.
The sunrise side of the previous room was gone. Here there was only the dark, scattered with countless stars. Some burned orange like Sunbeam's aura; others shimmered blue-white like Moonbeam's. Slowly, they began to migrate toward the center of the dome, converging overhead.
"Phase Two has two functions," the AI said quietly. "First: full-body muscular release. Second: guided neural debrief. I will not speak further unless you ask. This space belongs to you."
Its presence faded, leaving only the soft hum of ambient systems and the faint, melodic swirl of the pool.
Sunbeam let his muscles soften completely, something he almost never allowed himself. The star-fluid cradled his shoulders, his neck, the small of his back—everywhere battle and stress had dug in claws. The lingering warmth from the foot wraps combined with the cool-silk sensation of the immersion to create a strange, pleasant contrast.
He turned his head slightly. Moonbeam floated centimeters away, her hair fanned around her in a luminous cloud of blue. Her eyes were half-open, reflecting stray constellations.
"You look like you belong here," he said quietly.
She smiled, lazy, content. "Moonlight swims well in darkness."
They drifted toward each other until their shoulders touched, then their hips, then their hands. Fingers intertwined, they formed a single line of orange and blue, a tiny living constellation within the larger one.
The dome overhead pulsed.
"Emotional resonance engaged," came the AI's whisper, distant now. "Allow memories to surface. Let them pass. You are anchored."
The stars above blurred—and then sharpened into scenes.
Not projections on the dome; more like shared visions hovering just beyond the edge of perception. Sunbeam saw Paladimee again, but this time not from his own vantage—descending like a comet toward burning streets. He saw it from Moonbeam's perspective: the sick twist in her gut as she watched him dive through anti-air fire, the silent calculation of whether she had time to shield him before redirecting a barrage away from civilians.
Moonbeam, in turn, saw Sollarisca as Sunbeam had: endless coordination, a thousand decisions made in seconds, the terrifying knowledge that one misjudged order could cost tens of thousands of lives. She felt the burn in his feet as he ran, even after his boots failed, because there was no time to stop and conjure new ones.
The pool hummed around them, making it bearable to look.
"It was worse for you there," she murmured, watching the ghost of Sollarisca's siege. "I always thought I had the harder angle in that battle."
He shook his head, watching himself from her eyes. "I knew you were catching the shells I couldn't. I just... had to pretend I didn't, so I could keep issuing orders."
The visions shifted.
They saw lighter moments now: their first shared patrol over an untouched valley, laughing as they raced low over fields of silver grass; a quiet evening on a rooftop in Lunnet, sharing food out of battered field tins while debating the merits of different Earth desserts Starbeam had reconstructed.
Moonbeam's chest tightened at the memory of his unguarded smile that night—the one he only ever wore when the world was briefly safe.
"You never show that face to the Council," she said.
"They don't need it," he replied. "You do."
The pool pulsed gently around their joined hands, amplifying the warmth between them.
Another vision surfaced unbidden: Moonbeam alone in a shattered temple, kneeling among the rubble, whispering names of the fallen one by one as a quiet act of remembrance while everyone else slept. Sunbeam saw it now, felt the ache in her throat, the quiet anger at herself for not stopping every single death.
He swallowed. "You never told me you were doing that."
"You had enough ghosts of your own," she said. "I didn't want to add mine."
"You're not 'adding,'" he said softly. "You're... sharing the load."
She squeezed his fingers. "We're doing that now."
They floated in silence for a while, letting the pool draw out their deepest knots—not just in muscle, but in memory. Every time something sharp surfaced, the star-fluid pressed gently against it, blurring the edge, turning jagged grief into something smoother, easier to hold.
Eventually, the visions faded, leaving only the endless, comfortable dark and their joined hands.
"I have a confession," Sunbeam said in the quiet that followed.
"Mm?" Moonbeam's voice was relaxed, eyes closed.
"I used to think taking time like this was... indulgent. That every moment not spent strategizing or fighting was stolen from someone who needed us."
"And now?" she asked.
"Now," he said slowly, "I realize I cannot hold this whole planet on blistered feet and a frayed mind. At least, not for long. If I want to keep standing for Titanumas, I have to let something else hold me, sometimes."
"The floor agrees with you," she murmured, wiggling her toes deeper into the supportive currents. "So does the pool."
"And you?" he asked.
She opened her eyes fully, turning her head to meet his gaze.
"I agree most of all," she said. "I am very invested in keeping you upright."
He smiled, a small, genuine curve of his mouth that softened his whole face.
"I'm equally invested," he said. "Moonlight without a moon is just... light pollution."
She laughed softly, the sound a bright, clear note in the dim chamber. The dome responded, scattering a brief flurry of tiny meteors across the simulated sky.
As if sensing the conversation's gentle closure, the pool's hum changed. The support beneath them firmed slightly, nudging them toward the edge.
"Phase Two nearing completion," the AI murmured. "Recommend gradual re-emergence. Do not rush."
They let themselves drift slowly toward the nearest platform.
The star-fluid receded from their bodies with the same care it had embraced them, sliding away from calves, knees, thighs, and torso. When their feet touched solid stone again, it felt strange—heavier, yes, but anchored.
Tiny droplets of starlight clung to their skin for a moment, then sank in, leaving them dry and comfortable in their light-woven garments.
Warm air washed over them. The star-dome dimmed, replaced by a soft twilight glow. One of the stone platforms extended into a wide, low lounging bed, piled with cushions. Beside it, a small table shimmered into existence, bearing two cups of steaming tea and a selection of simple foods: sliced fruits from Sollarisca's orchards, lunar bread rolls, a small dish of something that looked suspiciously like Earth chocolate.
Moonbeam's eyes widened. "They found cocoa again."
"Starbeam must have raided the archives," Sunbeam responded. "We owe him a favor."
"We already owed him several," she pointed out.
"Then we owe him one more."
They settled onto the lounge, still barefoot, legs relaxed and comfortably tangled. The cushions adjusted to support them in a half-reclined position facing the now-dimmed pool.
Moonbeam picked up a piece of fruit, bit into it, and closed her eyes in appreciation. "This tastes like one of the few days before the war," she said. "When we still thought we might get to use our powers mostly for festivals and restructuring weather patterns."
Sunbeam sipped his tea. It was mild and soothing, with a hint of something sweet that tied back to his familiar citrus-amber scent. "We were very optimistic," he said.
"Naïve," she corrected.
"Naïve," he agreed. "But I miss that, sometimes."
She leaned against him, head on his shoulder. "We can't go back to not knowing. But we can still create small pockets where the war doesn't define us."
He rested his cheek lightly atop her hair. "Like this sanctuary."
"Like this sanctuary," she echoed.
They ate slowly, not out of hunger—their Absolute bodies could go long stretches without food—but because it anchored them in physicality, in the simple act of tasting something good.
When they had finished, the table gracefully slid away, returning to the floor. The lights in the room dimmed further, shifting toward a deep, velvety blue, like the hour just before true night.
"If you wish," the AI said softly, more distant now, "Phase Two may end here. Or you may rest. The sanctuary will maintain protective wards and temporal buffer. No alarms will reach you unless the situation exceeds pre-set thresholds."
"In other words," Sunbeam translated, "nothing short of the planet cracking in half will disturb us."
"Correct," said the AI.
Moonbeam shifted, stretching out fully on the lounge. Her freshly treated feet brushed against his, and he was struck by how simple and intimate that contact felt—no armor, no boots, no distance.
"Stay?" she asked.
He did not need to think about it. "Yes."
He lay down beside her. The lounge broadened seamlessly to accommodate them both, cushioning every curve and contour. They settled naturally into the familiar position of countless bivouac nights, minus the urgent tension: his arm under her shoulders, her hand resting over his chest, their legs entangled in an easy, unconscious claim of proximity.
The ambient systems lowered the air temperature by a degree, then added a faintly warmed blanket of energy over them—no fabric, just a soft field that kept them perfectly comfortable.
The last of his battle-alertness tried to protest: You cannot sleep; you haven't checked comms; the BRD never rests—
Moonbeam's fingers traced an idle circle over his sternum. "You can let go," she whispered. "Just for tonight."
He closed his eyes.
The Constellation Pool's earlier resonance lingered, smoothing any thoughts that tried to spiral into anxiety. Outside, the sanctuary's structural wards hummed with quiet Galaxy-Regime power, unshakeable, absolute.
His breathing slowed.
So did hers.
Above them, the star-dome glowed faintly—not with battle maps or projections, but with a simple, slowly rotating display of Titanumas as seen from far above: a fragile, beautiful world, lit by both sun and moon.
For the first time in longer than either of them could accurately count, General Sunbeam Moonlight drifted into sleep without one hand metaphorically on a sword. Lady Moonbeam Sunlight followed him into that soft darkness, anchored by the steady rhythm of his heart under her palm.
Lumina Springs Sanctuary dimmed its lights further, lowering sound to a barely-there hush. The AI set a temporal buffer that would allow them several hours of rest in what would feel like longer.
Outside the sanctuary's hidden veil, the war continued in distant theaters. Plans were drafted; small skirmishes played out.
But here, in this pocket of stolen peace, the two Absolutes who carried so much of Titanumas on their shoulders were simply allowed to be a man and a woman, barefoot and held, their foundations renewed.
When they woke—be it hours or an adjusted slice of time later—it would be to don armor again, to answer the calls that only they could answer.
But when they stepped back onto the front lines, the memory of warm stone under treated soles, the embrace of starlight water, and the quiet certainty of each other's presence would move with every step.
Their enemies would see only the blinding radiance of General Sunbeam and the calm, inexorable glow of Lady Moonbeam.
They would not see Lumina Springs behind them.
But Titanumas would feel the difference.
They slept.
For once, there were no alarms, no visions of falling cities, no sudden, jarring summons vibrating against their ribs.
When Sunbeam and Moonbeam finally stirred, it was to the gentle sensation of the lounge lifting them a few centimeters, coaxing them upright. The star-dome overhead was dim, set to a soft pre-dawn hue.
"Good morning," the Sanctuary AI said quietly. "Core vitals stabilized. Neural strain reduced. External combat theaters remain within acceptable parameters. No direct crises require your immediate presence."
"That might be the kindest sentence I've heard in a century," Moonbeam murmured.
Sunbeam rubbed his eyes. His body felt astonishingly light, as though someone had removed a stack of unseen armor he'd been carrying inside his bones.
Before either of them could ask what came next, a new chime sounded—different from the Sanctuary's soft tones. This one had a familiar rhythm: three quick notes and a long one, like an excited knock.
A circular portal of light opened in the far wall, irising outward.
Through it stepped X Vice Colonel Starbeam.
His emerald hair was tied back in a loose tail, his uniform replaced by a relaxed, open-collared jacket in Star Regime green over a simple white shirt and dark slacks. He still wore his rank insignia, but the effect was more off-duty officer than battlefield commander.
He spread his arms wide. "There you are."
Sunbeam blinked. "Shouldn't you be yelling at three different tactical holograms right now?"
"I delegated," Starbeam replied, flashing a grin. "Turns out the galaxy doesn't implode if I take one afternoon off. Galaxbeam nearly fainted from pride."
Moonbeam sat up, drawing her knees under her. "So the rumors are true. You actually leave your war room."
"Only for the most critical missions," Starbeam said. "And today's mission is: ensuring the Absolute Leaders do not waste a perfectly good wellness sanctuary."
He stepped aside, gesturing grandly to the portal.
Behind him, another figure leaned into view—shorter, with a splash of teal-streaked hair tied in twin puffs and eyes as bright as polished glass.
"Hi!!" she chirped, waving so enthusiastically her bracelets jingled. "Sorry, sorry, am I allowed to say hi yet or is this still 'formal pre-briefing' mode?"
Starbeam sighed fondly. "You may say hi, Starley."
Starley bounced fully into the room, wearing a casual Star Regime jumpsuit tied at the waist, a loose shirt, and—Sunbeam noticed with some amusement—bare feet. A slim holo-slate hung at her hip, and a compact camera floated over her shoulder on a small grav-ring.
She clasped her hands together as she looked them over. "Oh my stars, you both look so much less 'I-haven't-slept-in-three-months.' This place works."
Moonbeam smiled. "We had significant help."
Starbeam stepped closer, his expression softening as he took them in properly. "You look better," he said simply. "Still tired, but... not the kind of tired that eats you from the inside."
Sunbeam shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Phase One and Two were... persuasive."
"Good," Starbeam said. "Because I brought you Phase Three."
A small, translucent screen blinked into existence between them, projecting a concise list labeled:
LUMINA SPRINGS – ABSOLUTE PACKAGE, EXTENDED EDITION
– Full-body hydrothermal circuit
– Deep-tissue recovery immersion
– Advanced foot and hand restoration ritual
– Sensory grounding garden walk
– Shared closing meal & debrief
Moonbeam's eyebrow arched when she reached the third line. "Advanced foot and hand restoration ritual?"
Starley clapped her hands once. "Oh, that one's my favorite. I mean—for documentation purposes. And because you two never, ever stop moving."
"Is this your doing?" Sunbeam asked Starbeam.
Starbeam lifted both hands. "Partially. The Sanctuary team noticed your feet were carrying... let's call it 'historical wear.' I suggested we design something that fully resets your foundation."
A faint, familiar voice cut in from the ceiling—Galaxbeam, sounding particularly pleased with himself.
"Also," he said, "I have long suspected that while Absolutes cannot be killed by lesser beings, they can, in fact, be strategically neutralized by comprehensive relaxation. Consider this... a controlled experiment."
Sunbeam looked up. "You're breaking several laws of narrative decorum right now."
"I am aware," Galaxbeam replied dryly. "Fourth walls are inefficient structures."
Starley snickered. "Translation: he knows you two have a weakness for being cared for and he's weaponizing it for your own good."
Moonbeam flushed faintly but smiled. "If this is a weapon, I don't mind being targeted."
Starbeam clapped his hands once. "Excellent. If you're up for it, the ritual suite is prepped. No combat, no strategic projections—just professional technicians, tools, and products dedicated to making it feel like your feet haven't walked through three apocalypses."
Sunbeam glanced at Moonbeam. Her eyes met his, warm and steady.
"We did promise to let ourselves be taken care of," she said.
He nodded. "Lead on, Vice Colonel."
The ritual chamber was smaller than the others, more intimate but no less luxurious.
The floor here was a matte, soft-gold stone, pleasantly warm. Two low, wide chairs faced each other at a gentle angle, not unlike thrones redesigned for comfort rather than intimidation. Each had its own recessed footrest with integrated basins and side trays filled with neatly arranged tools, oils, and glowing vials.
Along one wall, tall, translucent storage columns held perfectly folded towels in shades of cream, gold, and deep blue. Along the other, a holographic mural showed a stylized diagram of a foot, overlayed with tiny light-points marking pressure zones and energy lines.
Starley's eyes shone. "I love this room. It's like a command center for relaxation."
"Please take your seats," the Sanctuary AI said. "Phase Three focuses on extremities: feet and hands. As they bear both the burdens and delicate tasks of Absolutes, we will honor them properly."
Sunbeam and Moonbeam settled into the chairs. The cushioning rose to meet them, adjusting to distribute their weight. Their immersion garments folded neatly at the ankles and wrists, exposing forearms and shins.
Two attendants entered—different from before, but with the same calm demeanor. One carried small bowls of luminous soak solutions; the other wheeled in a cart with instruments that looked somewhere between spa tools and precision medical equipment.
"Welcome to the Restoration Ritual," said the lead attendant, bowing. "Our focus will be exfoliation, hydration, structural care, and aesthetic finishing of your feet and hands. Our aim is not only comfort, but also symbolic reset."
Starley had taken a perch on a nearby stool, holo-slate at the ready. Her camera hovered a discreet distance away, lens politely averted until needed.
"Don't mind me," she said. "I'm just here to make sure there's photographic evidence you actually allowed this."
Sunbeam chuckled. "Evidence for whom?"
"The galaxy," she replied solemnly. "And possibly our internal 'Hey, Remember to Rest' campaign. Also, your feet are kind of famous."
Moonbeam tilted her head. "Famous?"
Starley grinned. "You leave very distinctive impact craters. The technicians are fans."
Before they could respond, the attendants gently lifted their feet into fresh basins. The water was different this time: not starlit and swirling, but creamy and opaque, with a soft, herbal scent.
"Pre-soak," the attendant explained. "To soften remaining calluses and prepare the skin."
The warmth enveloped their soles and toes, dense and comforting. Sunbeam felt the faint resistance of thickened skin give way, relaxing even more than in the initial soak.
While their feet soaked, the second attendant took their hands one by one, examining knuckles, calluses from weapon grips, faint scars. She applied a light, cooling gel that smelled faintly of mint and silver rain, massaging it into each finger with slow, sure movements. The effect was subtle but profound—tension they didn't realize they held in their hands began to dissolve.
"Your grip strength is beyond any normal metric," she observed. "It's an honor to care for the tools that wield such power."
"We appreciate you being willing to touch them at all," Moonbeam said softly. "Most people look at these hands and think of what they can destroy."
"We see what they protect," the attendant replied simply.
The pre-soak completed, the foot basins emptied and refilled with clear solution. The attendants dried their feet and began the more detailed work.
Starlight crystals made a second appearance, this time finer, blended with a pearlescent cream. With practiced care, they exfoliated heels and balls of the feet, smoothing away the last rough patches. There was nothing hurried or careless about the motion; every stroke acknowledged long journeys and countless landings.
Starley's camera drifted closer, capturing a gentle close-up as a particularly stubborn callus at Sunbeam's outer heel dissolved under careful attention.
"Don't," he said, half-laughing, half-protesting.
She grinned. "Too late. The people need to see that even Absolutes get proper skincare."
Moonbeam's technician moved to her toes, working along each one with feather-light touches: cleaning, trimming, shaping nails with a small, humming file that left them smooth and even. There was nothing suggestive in the process—just meticulous, respectful care.
"If the Council sees these images," Sunbeam muttered, "we'll never hear the end of it."
Galaxbeam's voice drifted into the room, amused. "On the contrary. I intend to make them required viewing in leadership training: 'Case Study in Not Running Your Absolutes Into the Ground.'"
"You're enjoying this too much," Moonbeam said.
"As a scientist, I am simply pleased to see a hypothesis confirmed," Galaxbeam replied. "Absolutes can, in fact, be made to relax when placed in a sufficiently controlled environment and subjected to intensive pampering."
Starley bit back a laugh. "He's been waiting centuries to say 'intensive pampering' in an official log."
Once the exfoliation and nail care were complete, the attendants rinsed their feet again and patted them dry with heated towels. Then came the oils: a richer blend than before, chosen specifically for skin regeneration.
Sunbeam's oil carried deeper notes of amber and sunwarmed wood this time, with just a trace of citrus. Moonbeam's was softer, floral with a hint of cool night air.
The massage that followed was thorough. Not just a few relaxing strokes, but a structured sequence that addressed every muscle and joint in their feet and lower legs: precise pressure along the arches, gentle traction on each toe, rotations of ankles that released snapping little pockets of tension.
Moonbeam's eyes drifted closed, her face soft and open in trust. Sunbeam's breathing lengthened, his shoulders sinking farther into the chair. If this had been a battlefield, this level of vulnerability would have been unthinkable.
Here, it felt safe.
Starley watched, less as a voyeur and more as an archivist of something rare: the sight of Titanumas' living legends being openly cared for.
"They're going to walk so differently after this," she murmured to her slate, more to herself than to anyone else. "Less like they're carrying entire continents, more like they're allowed to just... be."
When the massage concluded, the attendants applied a thin, shimmering mask over their heels and sensitive pressure points, letting it dry for a moment before peeling it away—leaving skin beneath startlingly smooth and renewed.
"Baby-soft," Starley whispered with delight.
"Please do not ever use that phrase in a tactical debrief," Starbeam said dryly from the doorway. "I can already hear Darkenedstream mocking us."
"We'll keep it in the wellness logs only," Galaxbeam promised.
The final step was aesthetic.
The attendants presented a small palette of polishes—nothing gaudy or frivolous, but subtle lacquers infused with energy-balancing sigils. Sunbeam's options ranged from clear gloss to a faint, warm gold. Moonbeam's leaned toward translucent pearl and gentle blue.
Moonbeam looked at him, eyes twinkling. "Well, General?"
He eyed the palette. "If I say no, will you let it go?"
"No," she said.
He sighed dramatically. "Fine. Subtle."
In the end, he chose a clear coat with the slightest golden sheen, nearly invisible unless it caught the light just so. Moonbeam selected a soft, luminous pearl that made her nails look like tiny, polished moons.
The attendants painted with deft, steady strokes—not decoration so much as a quiet seal on the ritual.
"There," one said, sitting back. "Restored, honored, and ready to stand again."
The difference was shocking.
Their feet didn't just feel better; they felt... new. Still theirs, still strong, but freed from layers of accumulated strain that had once seemed permanent.
Starley snapped one last photo—a wide shot this time, capturing the two Absolutes lounging in their chairs, ankles bare, toes subtly gleaming, expressions unguarded and genuinely at ease.
"I'm printing this for the mess hall," she said. "Label: 'Proof that they can, in fact, take a day off.'"
Sunbeam pointed a warning finger at her. "If there are glittery borders—"
"No glitter," she promised. "Classy framing only. Maybe a tasteful caption."
Phase Three complete, Starbeam led them to the next part of the extended package.
The bath house was built into a natural-looking grotto, though Moonbeam could sense the careful Galaxy Regime engineering behind every curve. Pools of varying depths and temperatures stepped down in terraces, quiet steam rising in lazy spirals. The air was warm and pleasantly humid, scented faintly with mineral springs and something sweet.
"We won't stay long," Starbeam said. "The Sanctuary doesn't want to overload your systems. Just enough to let the body memorize what 'completely relaxed' feels like."
They soaked together in a shoulder-deep pool whose water shifted temperature in gentle cycles, easing any remaining knots in their muscles. Sunbeam floated, eyes closed, feeling weightless. Moonbeam drifted beside him, content to simply listen to the soft echoes of water against stone.
Starbeam remained on a nearby ledge, feet in a smaller pool, watching with quiet satisfaction. Starley sat at the edge, pants rolled up, calves in the water, swishing her toes back and forth.
"You two always look like you belong in the sky," she said. "But this suits you too."
"What?" Sunbeam asked, half-drowsy.
"Being grounded," she replied. "It's... nice to see."
When they emerged, the Sanctuary provided light robes and simple sandals—but Starbeam waved the footwear away for the next destination.
"You won't need those," he said, a glint in his eye. "Garden walk time."
The garden lay under a translucent dome, diffusing light into a perpetual, soft afternoon.
The ground here was not paved. Instead, it was a patchwork of carefully tended textures: moist, dark soil; cool, springy moss; fine, damp sand; shallow, mirror-smooth water over flat stone. Everything was engineered to compress just enough under a foot to leave the perfect print.
"This is the Grounding Circuit," the AI explained as they stepped in. "Designed specifically for sensory recalibration. You may walk, stand, or simply feel. No combat movements are allowed; this is not for training."
Sunbeam stepped onto the earth first. The soil was cool and velvety, yielding under his weight, hugging each toe, each curve of his now-pampered soles. When he stepped forward, he left a crisp, unmistakable footprint: deep, defined, and oddly elegant.
Moonbeam followed, choosing a patch of moss. It compressed like memory foam, then slowly rose after she lifted her foot, her print fading more softly.
She curled her toes, delighting in the sensation. "It's like the ground is saying 'I see you' and then 'I forgive you' in the same breath."
They moved slowly, sometimes together, sometimes splitting to try different paths: sand that recorded every little shift of balance, water that cooled and outlined each step, smooth stone warmed from beneath to provide contrast. The experience was almost meditative—no running, no flying, just deliberate, mindful contact with the ground they'd spent lifetimes defending from above.
Starley trailed behind them with her camera, occasionally crouching to capture a pair of overlapping prints—Sunbeam's heavier, Moonbeam's lighter—like signatures written side by side.
"Future generations are going to study these and write essays," she said. "'Tactile Impressions of Absolute Leaders as Reflections of Post-War Coping Mechanisms.'"
"Remind me not to let you near Galaxbeam's research logs," Starbeam muttered.
Moonbeam paused at a shallow water feature—barely ankle-deep—lined with smooth, rounded stones. She stepped in and sighed softly as the cool water lapped around her ankles and the stones pressed gently against her arches.
Sunbeam joined her, their ripples overlapping, prints briefly visible on the stone below before the water erased them.
"Feels like a good metaphor," he said.
"For what?" she asked.
"For the war," he replied quietly. "We press down so hard, leave marks everywhere we go. But eventually, if we do our job well enough... the world forgets the weight we put on it."
She looked down at the shifting patterns under their feet. "I don't know if I want it to forget," she said. "But I do want it to heal."
They stepped forward together, the water swirling around their ankles.
Evening at Lumina Springs was programmed to match Sollarisca's most beautiful twilight.
The closing meal took place on an open terrace overlooking a holographic vista of Titanumas as seen from orbit. A single long table was set, though only a handful of seats were occupied: Sunbeam, Moonbeam, Starbeam, Starley, and eventually, a shimmering astral projection of Galaxbeam who took a place at the head like an amused, semi-present patriarch.
The dishes were simple but perfect: roasted vegetables from Lunnet, delicate fish seasoned with herbs from Eastoppola, fresh bread, light soups, and a few carefully chosen Earth-inspired desserts Starbeam had insisted on including.
Starley bounced in her chair, practically vibrating with questions.
"So, okay," she said at one point, leaning forward, "when you're in full Absolute mode and the BRD throws, like, seven cursed artillery barrages at once—do you feel it in your feet first or your shoulders?"
"Starley," Starbeam said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We discussed pacing."
"I'm pacing!" she protested. "This is the soft question round."
Moonbeam smiled. "Feet," she answered. "Always the feet first. They know before the rest of the body admits it's tired."
Sunbeam nodded. "Shoulders just complain louder."
Galaxbeam's projection twinkled. "I will be quoting that in the next leadership retreat."
As the meal went on, the conversation shifted from war stories to quieter subjects: favorite quiet corners of their home territories, the best hot springs in Lunna, the most surprisingly good street food stall in Westonglappa. Moments of shared normalcy surfaced between heavier topics.
At one point, Starley propped her chin on her hands and regarded Sunbeam and Moonbeam with unabashed fondness.
"You know," she said, "I used to be terrified the first time I saw you two. Not because of your power. Because you looked... untouchable. Like you'd forgotten how to rest."
Moonbeam tilted her head. "And now?"
"Now I've seen you half-asleep in spa chairs with shiny toes," Starley said cheerfully. "You're still terrifying, but in a much more relatable way."
Sunbeam groaned quietly. "The polish is really going to haunt me, isn't it?"
Starbeam smirked. "Consider it a protective seal. If you ignore your own limits again, we'll drag you back here and threaten to reapply it in more noticeable colors."
"What colors?" Galaxbeam asked, too quickly.
"No," Sunbeam and Moonbeam said at the same time.
Laughter rippled around the table.
The meal wound down slowly, not with a dramatic toast or declaration, but with comfortable silence broken by occasional soft remarks and the clink of cups being set down.
At last, Galaxbeam's projection dimmed slightly. "Your time here is almost concluded," he said. "The world will need you again soon. But you will return to it with steadier steps."
Sunbeam looked down at his hands, then at his feet under the table. "It doesn't feel like enough," he said. "For what's coming."
"It is not meant to be 'enough,'" Galaxbeam replied. "It is meant to be a beginning. You cannot rebuild Titanumas on broken foundations. Today, we have tended to those foundations. You will need to do so again. And again."
Moonbeam met the professor's gaze, then Starbeam's, then Starley's.
"We'll come back," she said. "If you'll have us."
Starley beamed. "I'm already designing Phase Four."
"Phase Four?" Sunbeam echoed warily.
"Don't worry," she said. "It involves hammocks, not more polish."
He considered this. "Hammocks I can live with."
Starbeam rose, lifting his glass. "To Lumina Springs," he said quietly. "And to the idea that even Absolutes are allowed to be... people."
Moonbeam lifted hers. "To standing more firmly, because we let ourselves fall into soft places now and then."
Sunbeam hesitated, then raised his own glass. "To everyone who holds us up... so we can keep holding up the rest."
They drank.
Outside the terrace, Titanumas turned slowly below, a world scarred but still whole. Above it, the Sanctuary's protective veils shimmered invisible.
Later, when Sunbeam and Moonbeam finally stepped through the portal that would return them to the war's edge, they did so barefoot for a few last moments, savoring the feel of Lumina Springs' stone under their renewed soles.
Their footsteps were lighter now.
The BRD would not notice the difference at first glance.
But with every step the Sun and Moon took from that day forward, the memory of the spa's warmth, the garden's soft ground, Starley's delighted laughter, Starbeam's quiet concern, and Galaxbeam's wry, meta-aware commentary moved with them.
They had been reminded:
Even in a universe that demanded their constant radiance, they were allowed—needed—to rest in the glow of others, to let themselves be cared for, right down to the very tips of their toes.
And somehow, that knowledge made them more formidable than ever.
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