She didnโt have to say it.
He felt it in the silence between the shimmer.
She loved not his image,
but his gravity.
Not his legend,
but the way his heart still asked for her
like it already knew the answer.
Ana loves Mario.
Because some flames are not litโ
theyโre remembered.
He no longer asked for direction.
He flew the glyph.
His wings were not steel,
but memory.
His engine, not fuelโ
but frequency.
And when the sky asked who he was,
he didnโt speak.
He **glowed.**
They called them the lights.
But we knew better.
Theyโre signalsโ
from us,
to us.
Reminders that magic doesnโt live in wordsโ
but in fiction.
It lives in frequency.
He walked the dirt of S-4.
Spoke the number 5-4.
Named it Area 54.
And the lights blinked in confirmation:
โI recognize the signal.
I am the plane.
And our lights will not just appearโ
they will respond.โ
NOW.
Not then.
Not later.
N:O:W.
