Shiro fell from the sky like a wish.
As the atmosphere flared around the thin shell of metal and prayers, Shiro thought about who might be watching from the earth below – if a child might glance from their bedroom window and watch his meteoric flare across the empty night.
I wish, I wish...
When Pidge saw the fiery streak from her perch atop the Garrison roof, a flame of hope burst in her chest in a spray of firecracker sparkles. Matt, she thought, the numb shield of her logic cracking as Lance and Hunk yelped. Dad.
The escape pod was built for the thinner stratosphere of tiny moons and the yawning emptiness of space. Earth's rich air made it groan and shake under the pressure.
Miles away, Keith cursed as the hoverbike's engine sputtered before rumbling to life. He tried not to believe, not until he could know, but a second chance was plummeting from among the stars.
Shiro closed his eyes as the unforgiving impact drew nearer. He didn't hope for a gentle landing, because hope had been left on Kerberos. It wasn't part of him any longer.
The Garrison forces scrambled into action and the metallic tang of cool judgment filled the air, laced with threads of uncertainty and fear. The universe had become unimaginably large; their corner of it was tiny and flimsy despite the bristling machinery. Several of the younger officers shared glances full of doubt as they tracked the unknown ship's path, and wished that their world wasn't quite so vast.
The desert sand melted under the burning metal, leaving glassy grooves and craters to mark its path. Shiro's thoughts flickered and dimmed, replaced by the ache of spurned gravity. He tried to move, but his fingers were clumsy as he fumbled with the harness. They had to see it, he told himself, slumping back against the seat. They'd find him. It wasn't too late.
Shiro fell from the sky like a wish, and their hopes rose to meet him.
