Stellar Fragments

The Eclipse Runner sailed into the doldrums, its sails slack in a windless sky. The stars above burned brighter than ever, their light almost solid, as if the void itself had been scraped away to reveal a deeper, older layer of the cosmos.

I stood at the bow, the Key to the Unseen heavy in my hand. Its new runes glowed faintly, etched with patterns that resembled the constellations of the Stellar Fragments—but older, twisted, as if carved by a hand that had forgotten what light was.

"The air's… thick," Claire said, her voice muffled by the weight of the silence. She'd removed her pistol, its weight unnecessary now, and stood beside me, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "Like we're underwater, but there's no water."

Edmund grunted, his mechanical eye whirring as he scanned the stars. "The tide's gone silent. No hum, no pull. Just… nothing."

A shiver ran through me. The Key to the Unseen pulsed, its heat matching the fever in my veins. I'd dreamt of this place—a labyrinth of black stone, pillars taller than skyscrapers, carved with the same runes as the old watchtower. In the dream, a figure waited at the center: a woman with hair like liquid starlight, her eyes twin voids that burned with a light older than time.

"Starborn," she'd called me. "The bridge between the first and the last."

I blinked, shaking the dream from my mind. "There's a lighthouse ahead," I said.

Claire squinted. "Where?"

"Beyond the mist."

The harbor had long since faded, replaced by an expanse of black water that stretched to the edge of the world. But now, a shape emerged from the haze—a tower, its base submerged in the sea, its peak piercing the stars. It was built of the same black stone as the labyrinth in my dream, its surface etched with runes that pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

"The Lighthouse of the First Dawn," Thomas's voice whispered in my mind. "Built by the starborn to contain the Devourer. But it fell. And now… it wakes."

I stepped toward the rail. "We need to board it."

Elias crossed his arms. "You're joking. That thing's older than the Leviathan. If it wakes, it'll—"

"It's already awake," I said.

The tower's peak flared, a beam of light cutting through the mist. It wasn't white like the old Lighthouse; it was golden, warm and pulsing, as if lit by a star that had just been born.

Claire grabbed my arm. "Zhou, listen to me. This isn't the bridge we thought. This is a prison. The starborn didn't build it to protect us—they built it to lock something in."

I nodded. "The Devourer."

Edmund placed a hand on my shoulder. "Thomas said the old gods imprisoned it in the stars. Maybe this lighthouse is the key. Or… the lock."

We boarded the Eclipse Runner's tender boat, its engine sputtering as it carried us toward the tower. The closer we got, the more the runes on its surface shifted—they weren't static anymore, but alive, rewriting themselves in a language that felt like a heartbeat.

The ladder, carved into the tower's side, was slick with seaweed and something darker, something that smelled of old blood. I climbed first, my fingers brushing the runes as I went. They burned, not with heat, but with memory—flashes of a civilization that had worshiped the stars as living beings, of a war between gods and voidbeasts, of a queen who'd sacrificed her life to seal the Devourer away.

At the top, the door stood open. Inside, the air smelled of incense and ozone, of a place that had been waiting for centuries. The walls were lined with murals: starborn warriors battling voidbeasts, a queen placing a crown of stars on the tower's peak, and finally… a figure standing alone, her back to the viewer, her hands outstretched as if holding something precious.

"The Starborn Queen," I whispered.

Claire stepped beside me. "That's her. The one who built the lighthouse. Her name was Lyra. The Stellar Fragments mentioned her—'the first bridge, the first light.'"

Edmund's mechanical eye glitched. "Her skeleton's in the royal observatory. I… I saw it when I was a kid. Her ghost still haunts the place."

A sound echoed from the tower's heart—a low, mournful hum, like a song half-remembered. It grew louder, and the runes on the walls began to glow, their light merging with the golden beam from the peak.

And then… she appeared.

Lyra.

She stood at the center of the chamber, her form translucent but radiant, her hair a cascade of starlight. Her eyes were twin voids, but they held no malice—only sorrow, and a weariness that stretched back eons.

"You've come," she said, her voice a chorus of ages, as if every starborn who'd ever lived spoke through her. "The bridge. The one who remembers."

I stepped forward. "Why me?"

"Because you are them," she said. "The sum of every starwatcher, every bridge, every soul that ever dared to look up and care. The Devourer isn't just a beast. It's the shadow of what we've forgotten: that the stars are not just light—they are souls. And when we stop remembering, they fade. When they fade, the void grows hungry."

The chamber trembled. The runes flared brighter, and I saw the Devourer in the beam of light—a shadow, coiled and waiting, its void eyes fixed on Lyra.

"You sealed it here," I said. "But it's breaking free."

Lyra nodded. "The tide was never meant to be a bridge. It was meant to be a key—to remind the stars that they are loved. But the world forgot. The living forgot. And so the Devourer stirs, feeding on the void of their forgetfulness."

She reached out, her hand passing through mine. "You have the Key to the Unseen. Not to lock the Devourer, but to rekindle the light. To make the stars remember. To make us remember."

I held up the key. It pulsed, its runes now matching the murals on the wall. "How?"

"Sing," Lyra said. "Sing the song of the starborn. The song of Lyra, the song of Thomas, the song of every soul that ever called this world home. Sing, and the stars will answer."

The Devourer roared, its shadow swallowing the chamber. But Lyra's light held it at bay, a golden barrier that glowed brighter with each word I spoke.

I sang.

Not with my voice, but with my soul. The song of the tide, the song of the stars, the song of all who'd ever loved, lost, and remembered. The dead joined in, their voices merging with mine—Mrs. Hargrove, the sailor, Thomas, Edmund, Claire. Even Elias, his mechanical whir harmonizing, and Rhea, her ship's runes glowing in time.

The Devourer faltered. Its shadow shrank, its roar fading to a whimper.

Lyra smiled. "You've done it. The stars remember. The tide remembers. And the bridge… it is whole."

The beam of light flared, engulfing the tower. When it faded, the Devourer was gone. The runes on the walls dimmed, but they no longer felt ancient—they felt alive, as if lit by a new star.

Lyra's form dissolved, her light scattering like stardust. "Remember us," she whispered. "For we are the stars, and the stars are you."

I looked at the Key to the Unseen. It was no longer blackened silver—it was gold, glowing with the same light as Lyra's crown.

Claire placed a hand on my shoulder. "What now?"

"Now," I said, "we tell the world. The stars are alive. The tide is a bridge. And we… we are the keepers of both."

Edmund nodded. "The Night Owl Society will spread the word. The dead will return, not as echoes, but as allies. And the void…" He trailed off, his gaze fixed on the stars.

"It will fear us," Claire said, her voice steady. "Because we remember."

The Eclipse Runner sailed away, the tower shrinking behind us. But the light lingered, a golden glow in the sky, a reminder that even in the darkest void, there were those who dared to remember.

And sing.