Elisa was born on Aetheris, a world bathed in the eternal light of its three moons, where the stars seemed so close that some claimed they could hear them sing. It was a planet of scientists, artists, and dreamers—but also of strict rules and an obsessive devotion to controlled knowledge. On Aetheris, the chaos of the unknown was a threat… except to Elisa.
From a young age, she was an anomaly. While her peers memorized equations and obeyed stellar simulations, she slipped away into the mountains to listen to the whispers of cosmic winds and gaze at the star-filled sky. She read forbidden texts from vanished civilizations, studied alternative theories of the multiverse, and questioned the idea that knowledge should have limits.
She was always asking what lay beyond, always presenting projects and lectures about entire galaxies—theses that disproved the limits of the universe or formulas describing complete solar systems. But her hunger for knowledge was always poorly received. In the assignments she turned in, teachers consistently gave her low grades or forced her to redo them, claiming she had not followed clear instructions and needed to adhere to established rules. Whenever she conducted experiments in the laboratories—or even just after class—her classmates would harass her, sabotaging her formulas or calling her a freak so they could laugh together.
"If you want so badly to know what's out there, why don't you just leave and look for it—and leave us alone?" they would sometimes say.
"Believe me, it's something I'd love to do… idiot," Elisa would reply, only to be met with another beating.
At first, Elisa cried. But before long, she noticed that the teachers always looked the other way or simply left the area. So she learned to carry those feelings inside.
At home, things weren't much different. Her parents—brilliant scientists, but deeply rooted in their rules and traditions—saw something dangerous in her spark. They loved her, yes, but with fear. Elisa told them about the bullying and discrimination she endured, and although her parents intervened by speaking with directors and sending letters, the academy excused itself by claiming the teachers had seen nothing and that it was all just classmates joking around. Meanwhile, her parents—though concerned—would always tell her that maybe she should try to be more obedient, more sociable with her teachers and peers, that perhaps she should put in a bit more effort as well.
Those words only made Elisa withdraw further and grow more resentful.
There were days when she vanished into the mountains for entire stretches of time, and the academy couldn't have cared less about her absence. In truth, Elisa was far more intelligent and capable than anyone in the complex—so much so that even she began to feel attending was a waste of time. She would stare at the sky for hours, imagining herself traveling among the stars she so admired, being recognized by entire planets as they cheered her name. She even made wishes to shooting stars as they passed—but her hopes and illusions were never fulfilled.
"I really only think about leaving… to a better place," she would sometimes murmur.
One day, while wandering through the forest as usual, Elisa found something nestled among the roots that immediately caught her attention: a gleaming black hat. She didn't know why, but it deeply intrigued her—as if it emitted a mysterious aura, as if it were calling to her.
She picked it up and was about to put it on when four classmates from her academy appeared, having snuck out as well. Upon seeing Elisa, they decided to harass her as usual.
"You know, you should live out here like the rest of the creatures."
Elisa tried to walk away, but they surrounded her. When they noticed the hat in her hands, they snatched it from her, saying it felt just as strange as she was.
"No! It's mine! Give it back!" Elisa screamed, trying to wrest it from the boy holding it. In her rage and frustration, she even struck him—but as always, she was met with another beating.
The boys kicked and struck her while Elisa curled on the ground, shielding herself, her mind consumed with growing anger and frustration. She was tired of all of it. And the hat—almost as if reacting to her emotions—began to vibrate and released a pulse that sent all the children crashing violently into their surroundings.
They slammed into the ground and trees, dazed and injured. Elisa seized the moment, grabbed the hat, and fled.
When she arrived home, she locked herself in her room without greeting anyone, staring in astonishment at the object in her hands. It was undoubtedly something special.
"I think my prayers were finally heard," she whispered.
Elisa continued sneaking off to the mountains, studying and using the hat—practicing, trying to replicate that pulse, learning to feel its power. Slowly, she succeeded, eventually able to activate it at will, creating pulses that lifted grass from the ground—and in one instance, even allowed her to levitate for a few seconds. She told no one. No one knew the object existed. She knew they would never understand.
That hat was not merely a relic—it was a doorway. When she wore it, she heard voices—not human, not threatening—that spoke in symbols, emotions, and memories. She felt the boundaries of her world shatter like glass. From that day on, Elisa was no longer a girl from Aetheris. She was something else. Something out of place.
Even after being expelled from the academies for experimenting with unauthorized technology, and later shunned by her own parents after an accident involving a miniature wormhole, Elisa felt that nothing remained for her on her planet except the hat. Resigned, wounded—but determined—she left.
She departed in a ship she had secretly been building for years, using scraps from wrecked vessels, shattered satellites, and whatever materials she could find while sneaking into the scrapyard. It was small—no larger than a room—and assembled in an abandoned laboratory she discovered on the edge of the forest. She had never managed to make it work. In fact, the very experiments that led to her expulsion had been attempts to find a power source for it, all with discouraging results. But with the help of the hat, she had finally found a usable source of energy—and now, she was going to make it fly at last.
The day she left her homeworld, there were no farewells—except from her parents, and even that was neither grand nor moving. They watched as she packed a few belongings, put on her favorite purple sweater, and placed the hat on her head before heading for the door. They asked what she was doing and where she was going. Elisa simply replied that she was doing what everyone wanted her to do—leaving.
They didn't quite understand, and tried to convince her to stay.
"For what? So you can keep treating me like trash? There's nothing left for me here—and I know you want me gone too."
"That's not true, daughter. I know we can be distant or harsh sometimes, but it's only because we love you and want what's best for you."
"What's best for me… is getting out of this place. You don't love me. You're just like everyone else. To you, I'm an anomaly too. You never supported or encouraged me—you never defended me. The day they expelled me from the academy, you voted in favor as scientists. And when they scolded me for the wormhole incident, you weren't even there—you didn't want to stain your image. So don't tell me you care. All I ask now is that you don't worry about me, and leave me alone like always."
Her parents fell silent, not knowing what to say. When Elisa turned to leave, they grabbed her arm to stop her—but fed up at last, she released a pulse from the hat that forced them back, and she finally left.
None of them noticed—Elisa walked straight ahead without looking back—but all three were crying as she went.
Elisa boarded her ship, placed the hat inside a display case, and took off. Aetheris breathed a sigh of relief at her departure. And Elisa… broke a little.
On her first journey, due to a radar malfunction, she ended up on a hostile planet where she discovered the cosmic pieces. It was on Yllium—a planet devoured by its own core, where gravity and logic bent like soaked paper. The pieces were not hidden; they lay in plain sight at the planet's center, almost as if waiting for her. As she approached, her hat shone brighter than ever before, and for the first time, Elisa felt power. Not just curiosity. Not just wonder. Real power.
The fusion was immediate—almost instinctive. As Elisa drew near, the pieces surrounded her briefly before launching into her ship, transforming it completely. It grew massively larger, merging with it and becoming its new power source. And Elisa herself gained the ability to see and comprehend things no mortal should—like waking from a dream and finally seeing the real world. Her eyes could perceive entire galaxies. Her voice could alter minor gravitational patterns. And her mind… began to lose its sense of "limit."
She could finally see everything beyond. The planets she could now explore. And she decided she would at last fulfill her dream: to be recognized and cheered by all. She entered her remodeled ship and put on the hat once more.
Her first missions across the cosmos were noble. She evacuated collapsing worlds, resolved interstellar conflicts, cured diseases deemed incurable by local scientists. But every heroic act carried a hidden price: residual radiation, quantum displacement, black holes the size of marbles. Small mistakes—acceptable ones, she told herself. The greater good justified them.
Over time, she began to avoid planets where she had made errors. When certain worlds vanished from her stellar radar, she simply erased them from memory. Some began calling her "the traveler of catastrophes." Others worshiped her as a savior.
Elisa knew. And she did nothing to deny it.
One day, in the nebula of a galaxy called Vam'Raeth, a group of children welcomed her with flowers and prayers. They offered her a crystal containing their people's history. When she touched it, the crystal disintegrated—absorbed by strange vibrations from her hat. The children fell silent. Elisa said nothing. She simply left.
From that moment on, something inside her broke for good.
She began to wonder whether she was still exploring… or merely running from herself.
Each jump carried her farther from the memory of Aetheris. She became more distant, more erratic, more feared. Some began to say Elisa no longer aged—that her body was no longer entirely human. That the cosmic pieces had not only transformed her, but replaced parts of what she once was. This was reflected even in her appearance: her once-blonde hair darkened to brown, and her once-blue eyes turned violet, as if stars or skies lived within them.
And yet, she never lost the flame. Amid the chaos, she still gazed at the sky and stars with the same fascination as the girl she once was—always from a different mountain, watching with nostalgia and sometimes regret. She asked the stars to guide her down a good path, always hoping the next planet would be a new adventure that would finally fulfill her.
Each time she saved a life, something inside her reconnected. But each time she caused harm—even the smallest—something dimmed.
Elisa was, is, and will be a living paradox: a heroine driven by curiosity, yet corrupted by power; an unwilling villain; an explorer who may have discovered too much.
When the Guardians stole the cosmic pieces from her, she lost more than her ship. She also lost the disguise of certainty that kept her standing. She was forced to confront what she had done—and what she might be becoming.
And perhaps, deep within the pain, redemption was born.
Notes: I remade the chapter.