Chapter Text
The sun was setting, its golden light cascading over the lush, green lands of Planet Popstar. Another day passed just like any other; calm, peaceful, and warm.
For many years since Kirby defeated the tyrannical Nightmare, life had been exactly that: peaceful. Every day was filled with tranquility, something the citizens cherished and hoped would never change. And perhaps it wouldn’t, not for them, not for a long time. The peace was well-earned, and everyone hoped it would last for years to come.
As Kirby grew older, his maturity, and his curiosity by extension, grew in leaps and bounds. Almost as soon as he learned to speak, he flooded the people around him with questions. Who was he? What was he? What was his purpose now that Nightmare was gone? No one had clear answers. Kirby’s species was unlike anything seen in Dreamland, or even on Planet Popstar as a whole - perhaps even the entire galaxy. The only person even remotely like him was his mentor, Meta Knight, and even they had countless differences. Despite that, the two had formed a considerable bond over the years.
One day, Kirby had asked how Meta Knight got his wings. The question amused the older warrior, but all he said was that their wings were a “surprise” that came to most of their kind as a sign of maturity. It answered whether they truly were the same species, but it ignited a new spark of curiosity in Kirby.
Would he grow wings too?
Meta Knight had told him he would know when the time came, the symptoms were unmistakable and to tell him immediately if it happened to him. Kirby tried to remember what those symptoms were, but today of all days, his mind felt hazy. Distracted.
“Kirby? Kiiiirby?”
He blinked, pulled out of his thoughts as Fumu gave him a very unimpressed look.
“Were you listening?” she asked, tapping her fingers on the book in her lap. “You know you need to work on your writing.”
In the years since Nightmare’s downfall, Fumu had grown and matured as well. She was taller now, her blonde hair longer, still tied in a ponytail. She had become a teacher; the head of a school she founded, even! She watched over many of Dreamland's youth, teaching them to read, write, and problem-solve; and those teachings naturally extended to Kirby, still a child in his own way.
“Sorry, Fumu…” Kirby mumbled, fiddling with the pen in his paws. His voice was quiet and distant. Even more than a decade after Nightmare’s defeat, Kirby was still learning to communicate through speaking and writing. He could speak, yes, but his words still slipped into a childish slur or rushed together like a sandwich. His writing… Well, he could hold a sword better than a pen at least. Still, he was improving. Growing up around intelligent figures like Fumu and Meta Knight certainly helped.
“You’ve been very distracted today, Kirby. More than usual. You’re usually eager to learn. Is something wrong?”
Kirby looked toward the setting sun, lost in its saffron glow. He didn’t know what was wrong, only that his focus kept drifting. He noticed various things around him: a fuzzy bee hopping between flowers; a leaf spiraling down from a tree in the breeze. Every tiny detail clawed at his attention. Well, every detail other than the fact he was supposed to be practicing his writing.
He felt… off. He didn’t know why.
“I dunno,” he said with a shrug. “I’m just… distracted today.”
“Is something bothering you in particular?” Fumu asked gently, closing her book.
“I dunno,” he repeated softly. “Maybe I didn’t get enough sleep?”
“You slept in this morning. More than usual. Are you sick?” Fumu leaned forward and pressed a hand to his forehead to check for a fever.
Kirby shook his head and gently pushed her hand away. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “Maybe I’ll go to bed early tonight.” He yawned. “Sorry I wasn’t very good today…”
“You’re fine, Kirby. You’re speaking just fine right now, you just have to remember not to mumble.”
“I know… It’s just hard.” He closed his eyes as a warm summer breeze brushed past. After a moment, he opened them and managed a faint smile.
“You’ll get it eventually. You’re doing fine.” Fumu stood and brushed blades of grass from her dress. “It’s almost time for dinner. Do you want to join us tonight before you go to bed?”
Kirby brightened immediately. “That sounds great!” Food would make him feel better, surely!
Despite Kirby’s reputation for eating enough for a small family in one sitting, tonight was different.
“Kirby, honey, why haven’t you eaten?” Memu asked from across the dinner table.
Kirby poked his steak with a fork, staring blankly at his plate. His mind drifted again; far, far away. He wasn’t hungry. The very thought of food made his stomach twist. And yet, he’d been excited for dinner not even an hour ago.
What's happening to me?
“Kirby?”
He looked up at Memu, who was giving him a concerned glance. Kirby furrowed his brow slightly. “Sorry… not hungry…” Kirby muttered, gingerly pushing the plate in front of him away. Even the smell, which would have normally gotten his mouth watering, was making him queasy.
Bun, who was sitting at Kirby's left, couldn’t help but snicker at this. “Did I hear that right? Kirby? Not hungry? I never thought I’d see the day!” He straightened his posture to turn and give Kirby a cheeky grin, which he returned with a grumpy pout.
Fumu's younger brother had also grown substantially taller since Nightmare’s fall, though he still kept his hair covering his eyes and still had his immature streak going strong. He continued to smirk at Kirby, who eventually shrank in embarrassment.
“Bun, manners!” Memu scolded. She turned back to Kirby, her expression softening. “Fumu told me you were acting strange today. Are you sure nothing is wrong, dear?”
“I dunno…” Kirby murmured, gaze dropping. “Sorry I wasted your food…”
“Don’t worry about that! We can save it for tomorrow.”
Fumu pushed her plate aside. “Do you want me to walk you home, Kirby?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Mhm…” He got up slowly, yawning and stretching as he followed her out of the apartment.
“Kirby, are you sure nothing’s going on?” Fumu asked as they descended the stairs and headed down the hall towards the exit of the castle.
“Maybe? I don’t know what’s wrong. Maybe sleep will help.”
The walk to Kirby’s dome house was silent. He could feel Fumu’s worried gaze on him the whole way. He felt guilty; guilty for feeling unwell for no reason.
Why couldn’t he think straight? Why wasn’t he hungry? Why did everything feel wrong? Nothing had changed in his routine. He slept well. He ate well. He played less now, sure; everyone was older, busier, with no time for games… but that wasn’t new.
So then what was happening to him?
By the time he surfaced from his thoughts, they were already at his home.
“Well… goodnight, Kirby,” Fumu murmured. "I hope you feel better tomorrow." She gave him a gentle pat on the head, which he responded to with a short, pleasant hum.
“Me too,” Kirby replied sleepily. “I just wanna sleep… goodnight.”
Fumu offered a small smile before heading home. Kirby waved, then pushed open his door and collapsed onto his bed with a long sigh.
He burrowed beneath his soft covers, curling into his pillows. Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow he’d feel normal again. He hated being distracted. He hated not being hungry. It wasn’t like him at all. He hoped sleep would fix it.
Little did he know that something big, something life-changing, was already stirring beneath the surface.