Celeste had always believed that the stars were distant things.
Beautiful, yes but far away. Untouchable. Silent.
That was what everyone said, at least.
Yet on certain nights, when the world grew quiet and the air felt heavier than usual, Celeste felt as though the sky leaned closer to her. As if it were listening.
She stood at the edge of the village, where the last cottages faded into open fields. The wheat swayed gently, brushing against her ankles, whispering secrets she pretended not to hear. The lanterns behind her had gone dim, their warm glow replaced by darkness and the silver light above.
She hugged her shawl tighter around herself.
"You're imagining things," she murmured, the words shaky even to her own ears.
Celeste had said that sentence many times in her life.
Whenever she noticed the way shadows moved differently for her.
Whenever she felt a strange pull in her chest during starlit nights.
Whenever the sky seemed… aware.
Lumeris was a quiet village. People here lived predictable lives planting, harvesting, marrying, growing old. Magic was something spoken of in old stories, not something real. And people who believed otherwise were gently laughed at… or quietly avoided.
Celeste had no desire to be either.
She had learned how to blend in. How to keep her head down. How to swallow the questions that pressed against her heart.
But tonight, the pressure was unbearable.
The stars shimmered brighter than usual, scattered across the sky like spilled light. Celeste tilted her head back before she could stop herself. The sight stole her breath the way it always did.
Her chest tightened.
There it was again that feeling.
Not fear. Not exactly.
More like recognition.
Her fingers curled unconsciously at her sides as a strange warmth spread through her palms. She frowned, lowering her gaze to her hands. They looked normal. Too normal.
"Stop," she whispered to herself. "Just stop."
The warmth faded, leaving behind a dull ache.
Celeste exhaled slowly. Maybe she really was overtired. The elders always said strange thoughts crept in when the mind wandered too far.
She turned to head back toward the village
And then the sky changed.
It wasn't sudden. Not dramatic at first.
One star flickered.
Celeste froze.
Her heart began to pound, each beat loud in her ears. She watched, unable to look away, as the flicker grew stronger. The star pulsed once… twice… then burned brighter than any she had ever seen.
"No," she breathed.
The air felt charged, buzzing faintly, like the moment before a storm. The wind stilled. The wheat stopped moving.
Then the star fell.
A streak of light tore through the sky, brilliant and blinding, trailing silver fire. Celeste gasped, stumbling backward as the ground trembled beneath her feet.
The star vanished beyond the hills.
Silence followed.
For several heartbeats, the world seemed frozen. Celeste stood there, chest rising and falling rapidly, her thoughts spinning.
Falling stars weren't unheard of.
But this had been different.
She knew it in her bones.
Against every instinct screaming at her to run home, Celeste turned toward the hills. Her feet moved before her mind could argue.
"What are you doing?" she muttered, half-panicked, half-determined.
Each step felt heavier than the last. The farther she walked, the stronger that familiar pull became—gentle but insistent, like a hand guiding her forward.
The night air grew colder.
When she reached the clearing, she saw it.
A shallow crater carved into the earth, soil still smoldering faintly. At its center lay something small, glowing softly, like a fragment of moonlight trapped in glass.
Celeste stopped at the edge.
Her breath caught.
The light responded to her presence, brightening slightly. Warmth flooded her chest, spreading outward, soothing and terrifying all at once.
"No," she whispered again, though she didn't know what she was refusing.
The glow pulsed.
And then
Footsteps.
Celeste spun around, panic flaring. Someone else was here.
From the shadows beyond the clearing stepped a group of riders, cloaked and silent. Their horses moved with unnatural stillness, hooves barely disturbing the ground.
At their center rode a man dressed in dark, finely crafted armor. He dismounted slowly, movements precise, controlled.
When he lifted his head, his gaze locked onto Celeste.
It was sharp. Calculating. Heavy with something she couldn't name.
She felt suddenly exposed, like the night itself had betrayed her.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
His voice was calm but not kind.
Celeste swallowed hard. "I - I live nearby. I saw the light."
His eyes flicked briefly to the glowing fragment behind her, then back to her face. Something unreadable crossed his expression.
"So you saw it fall," he murmured.
That wasn't a question.
Instinct screamed at her to deny it. To lie. To run.
But the words stuck in her throat.
The man stepped closer. The air seemed to shift with him, heavy and restrained, like a storm held on a leash.
"What is your name?" he asked.
Celeste hesitated.
Names had power. She had always believed that.
"…Celeste."
At that, something in his gaze changed.
Just for a moment.
The light behind her flared.
The man straightened slowly, his jaw tightening. "Interesting," he said quietly.
Fear curled in her stomach.
"What's interesting?" she asked, her voice barely steady.
He studied her as though seeing her for the first time. Not as a village girl. Not as someone insignificant.
But as something else.
Something dangerous.
"You don't know what you are," he said at last. "Do you?"
Celeste's heart hammered.
"I'm just… me."
The man's lips pressed into a thin line.
"No," he replied. "You're not."
The wind rose suddenly, swirling around them, carrying the faint sound of distant stars—soft, almost like whispers.
Celeste felt it then.
The truth she had been avoiding her entire life.
The stars hadn't been watching her.
They had been waiting.