The morning after, Starfall Village was silent. Not the stillness of peace, but that heavy silence that weighs upon your chest, where every footstep seems too loud. Smoke from the burnt huts still wafted above the roofs, carrying the acrid smell of ash. Somewhere in the distance, dogs were barking half-heartedly, but even they sounded subdued, as if they too had seen too much.

People moved about like shadows. Some were patching broken fences, others carrying buckets of water to douse the remaining smoldering spots that still hissed softly in the dirt. Mothers clasped their children closely, eyes swollen from crying. By the river, men dug graves. Every so often, a sob broke through the silence, only to be swallowed up once again by the air that felt too thick and heavy to breathe.

He sat by the old stone well, at the center of the village, his stick laid across his knees. He had not let it go during the night, not even after the fighting was over. His knuckles were sore, and across his forearm was a bruise where the bandit's blade had glanced past before it broke. He continued to stare at his hands as if they still might carry the answer to what had happened.

The light-that strange, silver glow-where did it come from?

He could see it now, clear as could be, whenever he closed his eyes: the way it rippled across the ground like water, the way it seemed alive, humming as if the earth itself was singing. And then the sword shattering, shards spinning through the air, he wanted to believe it was him, he wanted to think he'd done something brave, something powerful. But he knew better. He was ordinary. Always had been.

"Yun!"

The voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Liang running over, dirt still smeared across his cheeks and his shirt torn at the sleeve. Despite that, his grin was wide-1, the kind of grin only someone young and foolish could manage after a night like that.

"You were amazing last night!" Liang exclaimed, eyes shining. "Everyone said you stood up to that bandit!"

Xing Yun scratched the back of his neck, not knowing what to say. "I… I just swung a stick, anyone would've done the same."

Liang's grin grew wider. "But it worked! You broke his sword in half! Even elder han said he's never seen anything like it. Maybe you've been hiding your strength all this time, eh?" He playfully elbowed Xing Yun.

Xing Yun tried to smile back, but it felt thin, stretched. He wanted to laugh with Liang, but the unease in his chest wouldn't let him-the stick hadn't broken that blade, he hadn't done anything except stand there, frozen and terrified, something else had stepped in. And he didn't know what, which frightened him more than the bandits had.

Xing Yun slipped out into the fields that night, long after the villagers had gone to bed. The dew was still on the grass and the night was cool, a breeze carrying the scent of river water. Above him stretched the sky vast, endless, scattered with stars that glimmered like lanterns hung by invisible hands. He lay down, folding his arms behind his head, staring upward the way he always did when the world below felt too heavy.

"Was that you?" he whispered. His voice was small in the open night. "Did you help me?"

Of course, there was no reply. The stars kept their silence, burning cold and far away. But he didn't look away. Even if no one answered, looking at them lightened him, as if all his cares might be carried off into that endless sky.

Yet, far beyond the stars, someone was listening to him while smiling.

High above the world of men, past the clouds and past even the veil of night, there was a place where starlight flowed like rivers and mountains floated in seas of light. In that place sat a woman upon a throne carved from crystal. Her hair shone like silver silk, spilling across her shoulders, and her eyes, closed for now, glimmered faintly as though she dreamed with her eyes shut.

Her lips curved into the faintest smile.

"So," she whispered low, her words carrying across the star-lit hall, "the first seal stirs."

Behind her, other figures shifted in the darkness. Men and women, robed in garments that glittered with the light of whole galaxies, their presence so massive that even starlight seemed to bend before them. Yet none of them spoke. None of them came nearer. For they all knew the rule that bound them: he must walk his path alone. And so they watched, their gazes fixed on the small, ordinary boy lying in the fields of a forgotten village, whispering to the stars.

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