Modified Starstack

A Starstack device, standard issue for all <te href=851071>Spacetrek Collective</te> personnel. It's used to monitor students' frequency signals and assess their condition in real time. Mornye, however, modified her device to do much more. It stores and autonomously activates her Forte on command. Now, the Starstack can monitor the status of her prosthetic limbs, reply to work messages, pilot vehicles on autopilot, and even command Hover Cannons to deliver Nutri-Packs—all without interrupting her current train of thought. In short, efficiency above all.

Old Student ID

An old student ID from Mornye's days at <te href=851069>Startorch Academy</te>. Renowned throughout <te href=850079>Solaris</te>, the Academy stands as the pinnacle of talent cultivation. Before enrollment, she was confined to a wheelchair. Quiet and withdrawn, she spent her days alone in a small room stacked with theoretical papers. Everything changed the day she received Startorch Academy's admission letter. Renowned as a cradle for the exceptional, it offered a new possibility—that her worth would not be measured by the limits of her body, but by the reach of her mind. There had to be a wider, brighter world waiting for her.

"Gaze"

"Your bangs are so long. Are you sure you can see okay?" Prompted by this offhand remark from a senior, Mornye did something rare for herself. She stepped out of the lab and wandered into a marketplace to buy two simple hair clips. They were small and plain, barely strong enough to pin up her heavy bangs. But when she looked in the mirror, an unfamiliar, uneasy feeling stirred within her. It felt like her entire field of vision was now waiting, exposed, for someone's gaze to meet it. These days, she has long gotten used to trimming the long strands that once obscured her sight. Yet those two hair clips, stripped of any real function now, still remain tucked in her hair.

A Thump

Mornye had known from a very young age that she was a burden to others. Her family, most of the time, treated her with great care. Her mother quit her job to look after her at home, while her father worked long hours to pay for her endless medical bills and examinations. In those early years that still blurred at the edges, her mother would often lift her into her arms, murmur soft words, then lay her gently back onto the small bed that was hers alone. One year, on her birthday, her father even made it home while she was still awake. The three of them sat together to sing a birthday song. They wished her peace, joy, and health as she grew up. Mornye always accepted these moments quietly. She knew her mother believed she couldn't understand what was said or how they felt, and she always caught the sadness that flickered across her mother's face each time she lifted her unresponsive legs. She remembered, too, the tiny, almost imperceptible hesitation whenever they said the word "health.” But they loved her. She understood that very early on. There was only one exception. One night, the sound of an argument jolted her awake. Her father's voice was raised, and her mother sobbed through her words. The unfamiliar threat in the air frightened her so badly that she began to cry. She was certain they heard her, because their shouting paused for a heartbeat, then returned louder, sharper, pitched toward a new kind of despair. In that fragile pause, a feeling she had never known took root: she had to stop them herself. The wheelchair sat by the bed, just within reach. She clutched the rail on the edge of the bed and began to move. First her chest, that was easy. She could lean forward and close the distance. Then her stomach. She felt her insides clench against the hardwood until a dull pain bloomed, a strange sign that she was making progress. Finally, her legs. She gathered every shred of strength and forced those disobedient limbs to slide over. And then came a thump. The argument stopped at once. Silence flooded the house. The wheelchair lay overturned from the force of her fall. Numb with pain, Mornye pushed herself up with trembling arms. Something warm was trickling down from her temple, sliding over skin that was always cold to the touch. Her mother rushed in, dropped to her knees, and lifted her. She held her close, tears of exhaustion streaming down her face.