It wasn't the first time she snuck out of camp, and it probably wouldn't be the last. No, her hand would often find the cool, metal zipper in the dark, gripping it 'til her knuckles turned white, would often slide the thing down, eyes closed as the slow motion took an eternity. It had to be slow, she had to keep the noise below the chirping of insects and hooting of owls. The cover would be pulled away – slowly, again – though this was thanks to her reluctance to feel the cold night air than a fruitless attempt at being utterly silent. She would roll to her stomach, to the stomped down grass, bounce to her feet and scan the campsite, just as she did that night.

Her eyes always settled on Ray first, because he was the safest. He was the heaviest sleeper, barely deserving a glance as her eyes continued on. Kai was next, undoubtedly the lightest sleeper of the bunch. Hilary had never managed to wake up without disturbing the stoic man as well. A yellow head lifted, a ear flicked, and then Max returned to sleep once more. So, Hilary snatched up her bag, threw it over her shoulder, and set her eyes on the last one of the group. If there was anyone to be worried about waking, it would be him.

Tyson was somewhere in the middle, lighter than her and Kenny. Often times he would catch her with the zipper down, more often when she got to her feet or when she snatched up her bag. She would explain she was going to the bathroom, and he would nod and say, "I'll wait." In the middle of the night, woken by her slightest movement, he told her he would wait, like some crazed mother afraid that her kid couldn't make it down the hall to the bathroom. He said he would stay up until she was back in her bed.

And then he did. The crazy boy did the same thing to Kenny. No matter how long she took (and she never took long anymore, because it always left her feeling guilty), she would come back to find him with his arms behind his head, stargazing like it was nine o' clock at night instead of three in the morning. He would be sure she was back in her sleeping bag, and then he'd start snowing an instantly, like her back on the ground flipped some sort of switch.

He was sleeping though tonight. Maybe she looked too long because waking up like he did could be unnerving, or maybe she stayed because she didn't mind watching them sleep, watching him sleep especially. She loved the rise and fall of his chest. She even loved Kenny's impossibly slow breaths, sometimes so subtle she scared herself into thinking he wasn't breathing. He always was, though waking him up to make sure he was still alive could be embarrassing at times.

She had friends, true friends, and they were safe. She drank the air in gulps as she watched them, hands clenching tight at her sides. For now, they were safe. For how long, she couldn't guess. And she didn't dwell on it. She didn't want to guess what would happen tomorrow, and, if not then, then perhaps the next day. No, it was time to swallow that lump in her throat and march, march through the woods without a trip or a stumble, promising herself that ghosts weren't real and just a terrible, terrible figment of her imagination.

She rolled on her stomach and pulled herself to him, voice low. She saw his peaceful face. Her head had been falling during the whole speech, lower and lower. It had started, looking intimidating at first, but weakened as her expression did. It finally fell then, into the grass which poked and prodded and stung her cheeks. She liked to think that she had managed to find the only spot of dew-covered grass, and that was why her face felt so wet, but her voice was shaking as she whispered, "If you keep doing that, you'll die."

"Die doing what?" Tyson asked nervously. "Do I have a disease or something?"

She jerked up at the sound, wiping so-called dewdrops away and hugging her knees to her chest. There was Tyson Granger, lying on the slant of the hill, eyes wide like he truly believed that statement. For a moment, neither talked, and Hilary watched him go up and down with the same, steady kind of breath he had while he was sleeping. Still breathing. Still alive. Still burning brighter than any other star in the sky, brighter than anything on the planet. It calmed her, to see him there meant that he was real, Kenny was real, Kai was real, Max was real, Ray was real, and that it all wasn't some sick little fantasy she had made up before she went to bed.

And when she had watched him breathe enough, she spoke, "I don't think you've got a disease Tyson. You look fine to me. Let's check! Stick out your tongue." She closed her eyes tight, winkled her nose, and stuck her tongue out at him as an example.

He ignored her teasing, shaking his head. "You were talking about me like I was gonna-"

"We're all gonna…sometime." She hid her face in her legs, muttering into them: "I can't help but think about that night you saved me and Chief from those kidnappers. They were really dangerous people Tyson. They had guns. They could have killed us and nobody would know about it. And then ever since, you got yourself involved with some really malicious people. I can't help but worry about you."

He smiled coyly at her, and smirked, gazing up at the stars. "Nah…I don't think that's how I am gonna die. My death should be heroic."

"No!" she shouted, a protest to the fact rather than his statement. Then, more calmly: "Don't say stuff like that. You aren't gonna die. for a very, very long time, Tyson. You're going to live a long life, just like me, and we're going to be happy and do well."

"Well, you brought it up." Tyson mumbled.

"Well because someone's always dying," she retorted.

"Someone you know," he pressed.

She grinned and fell to her back again. "Well, I know stars and most of the ones we see are already dead. At least one of them, somewhere in the universe, is probably dying right now. They say one star goes supernova every second. Somewhere in the universe there's always a star blowing up. So, I know a lot of dead things, I guess. It's not weird for kids, to think about death – bladers especially. There's adventure around every turn, but that adventure comes with danger…and probably death. There's usually death. Bitbeasts, Tyson, they are always on the hunt. They always try to steal Dragoon or Dranzer and the blader ends up getting hurt or runs amuck. What sort of dangers you haven't been yet!"

"Kidnapped by pirates and thrown overboard/ Drowning/ Stabbed…"

"Tyson!" She glared at him, chin pressed into the clay. "You're impossible!"

"But I'm fun," he chuckled, smiling all the while. "And, more importantly, I'm not dead! I'm nowhere near dead. I could run a marathon and still have the energy to pummel Ozuma and his stupid bitbeast into the ground." He scowled then, dropping his head low and growling deep in his throat. "But we're supposed to be staying on topic. You were talking about the stars before, and how they die, not just me. At least, I think they're stars. Stars go supernova, but you also started talking about dwarves or something weird. I didn't get it." He crawled up and laid beside her. "So tell me what you meant."

"Small stars live forever," she sighed. "That's those red dwarfs I was talking about. No one knows how they die, but we're guessing that they just burn out. Then, there's the medium stars, like our sun, that live a medium time, and when they die they just sorta shed layers until they're all gone. And then there are the big ones, those are the stars those are the stars you see in the sky. They live a little while, then they explode."

"Explode?" he asked with little boy enthusiasm.

She nodded. "It's called a supernova when they blow up. Well, the term is basically a star goes supernova, but, in the end, it just means they blow up. They're radioactive and if one blew up close enough to our planet, we'd drop dead because of all the little atoms that come whizzing by. Some are always going by, and even when one blows up in another galaxy they find out that particles are still flying at us."

"Or turn into mutants," Tyson grinned. "That's what happens when you get hit with radioactive stuff sometimes. You end up getting superpowers."

"No. We die. We die every single time we come in contact with that stuff. It's like bullets small enough to kill your cells, Tyson. It's not some mystical chemical. It's hydrogen and helium and that kind of stuff, except they're moving really fast so instead of just floating away from you they rip you apart and kill you, even though you can't see it. There's no mutations involved. No powers for you."

"Radioactive spiders," he pointed out with a giggle, walking his fingers up her arm.

She whacked his hand away. "I'm not scared of nursery rhymes. I know it's you and not a stupid spider."

"Not until you've got your curds and whey, huh? Along came a spider who sat down beside her and frightened Miss Muffet away!" He laughed, and, abruptly steered the topic back to its original course: "And I'm a big star. So I'll blow up, right? And you and Kenny, since you're big stars too, you'll blow up like me. Does that mean we're all going to go together?"

"Me and Kenny? We're not big stars." She snorted. "You're the only big star I know, or even heard of! Well, at least that isn't dead. You're going to be in the history books, and when those are gone, in legends. You're the kind of bright, shining star that glows forever."

"But you said that the big stars die faster," he pushed.

"Yeah, but that's because…while you're here, you're bright, so bright you wash out all the other stars near you. Me, Kenny, Max…it's not us people remember, don't want to remember, it's you. Maybe if they try, if they do enough research, they can find us, but we still aren't important enough to write down. You're so thrilling and fascinating that people remember you before they remember anything else. They'd rather remember you. You're more exciting. You're brighter, get it?"

He thought (for once) about making a cute remark about never being called bright before, but thought better of it, and she continued, "Because you're so bright, lots of people see you, you'll make a difference in a lot of people lives. Kenny and me…we make a bit of a difference, we'll do a bit for humanity, but it's doubtful we'll get more than a brief mention in a textbook. There's more of us then you, and then there's the biggest category, those are the red dwarfs.

"Those are the people who don't do anything, who don't care, who don't matter, any they only get notice because they live so long. But they only live so long because they never do anything, and the saddest thing of all is that they can't. The just exist their entire lives, breathe, eat, live, never Accomplish any goals or dreams, and they're happy. I can't understand it. They're happy even though they're not worth a thing, that they don't make a difference, that they're making more worthless kids.

"Meanwhile, you're out there trying your hardest, doing your best, but no matter what you do people will always remember how you died, because it'll be beautiful. You're going to die in a beautiful, beautiful way, and people will cry, but it's better this way. This was how he would have wanted to go. A beautiful flash of light, brighter than your entire life put together…and then it's over. And we're still here. And we go quietly, shooting off light and heat trying to make a few final differences before we go as if doing good stuff is going to delay it any. And the tiny stars just burn away, and no one notices."

They sat in silence for a moment before Tyson burst, "That's an awful way to see it."

"Well, the universe isn't as beautiful as it looks down here. We skip over the bad and see the starlight, the really bright stars. We see the destruction and death and explosions and find them beautiful. We do the same thing with history. We can romanticize even…even the worst times. You've seen the movies they make. Trust me, what people see and love more than anything else are the supernovas. You want to see the star die."

It was quiet again for a while, and he did his best to ignore the obvious fact that she was trying not to cry – not that he would blame her if she did, because if he ever thought about the death of any of his friends, family. He'd be sobbing like he'd been shot in the leg. And, when he finally did speak, he put quite a bit of thought into it because he was terrified the wrong thing would make her cry, and he wasn't good with criers. He never dealt with crier. Almost never. And when he did he could never do anything more than make funny faces and beg the person to stop. So, he used those non-confrontational words Kenny kept forcing on them: I think.

"I think that people…people aren't stars," he contradicted slowly, "I think that people are just people. And I think metaphors are stupid. I think that I'm not going to die, because I'm too good at battling and I think that your ideas are stupid, and you and Kenny are giant stars too, and you're going to be the best manager the world has ever seen. You'll each get your own chapter in the history book."

She laughed at that, covering her mouth at the too loud sound. "You dork!"

"And I think that if I ever died, I wouldn't feel happy to go no matter how heroic the death was. I'd be mad because I died and I didn't even get the medals and the trophy to show off to the world. Besides, what if I still had to be a Champion? Nuh-uh. If, and that's completely impossible, but if I ever did die heroically and someone told you that, you can punch them in the head and say, 'that's from Tyson Granger!'"

She laughed with him, laughed big and loud until they were sprawled out on the hill, breathing heavy and drunk of starlight and wilderness. And the laughter stopped and the fun stopped and it was immeasurably serious again. The two thirteen years olds, all alone, thinking about death at midnight.

"It's not a stupid metaphor, is it, Tyson?" She gulped, suddenly feeling like the universe was much too big. "Heroes die young and the weak never die."

He set his hand on hers, squeezing it gently, comfortingly, and said the words she never wanted to hear: "It's better this way."

And with every second that passed, another star went supernova.