The wind moved through the grasslands of the Goldenstar domain, making waves in the tall, sun-warmed grass. It smelled like dry earth—and like the end of the day.
Simon crouched beside his trap. The horned rabbit was still. Its chest didn't rise anymore. Its ears were dusty. Its horns were just starting to grow. He picked it up gently, trying not to disturb how its legs were frozen in place, like it had been jumping when it died.
He had caught it.But he didn't feel proud.
The creature hadn't done anything wrong. It had lived its life—until it hadn't.
Simon looked at it for a long time.So small. So quiet. And now, gone.
He thought of Lyra, his older sister. The first mage in the clan since the Gold Star Mage. Even the elders bowed when she passed.
He thought of Eron, whose strength could break boulders, whose reflexes were faster than a flying blade. People said he'd be Forged like Father someday. Maybe even better.
And then there was Simon.He had set a trap. It worked.
But he didn't feel great.He didn't feel like a Goldenstar.He didn't even feel like someone who'd be remembered.
The sky grew darker.He sat beside the rabbit and looked up.
Above him, stars began to appear, slowly, like the sky was breathing. He found the Great Red Star first—the one that marked Concordia, the capital of the Alliance. Somewhere even farther than that was Earth. Humanity's first home.
He wondered if Earth ever remembered its children.
The sky stretched endlessly—past memory, past thought. And a calm settled in his chest.
The rabbit was small.He was small.Even Lyra and Eron—just small sparks under a bigger sky.
And somehow, that made it easier.The wind still moved. The stars still shone. The world kept turning.
And for that moment, Simon felt like he didn't need to be more than he was.
"Still out here, boy?"
Simon turned. His grandfather, Halan, stood a few steps away, leaning on his shepherd's staff—not because he needed it, but because he liked the feel of wood in his hand. His silver hair glowed in the moonlight. His dark eyes were always half hidden under his thoughtful brow.
"I've been looking for you," Halan said. His voice was low and warm. "Your grandmother gave up calling. Figured I'd try finding you the old way."
Simon stood and brushed off his trousers. "Sorry. I was just… thinking."
"Good. Not many do that anymore." Halan looked at the rabbit. "First catch this week?"
Simon nodded. "It was luck."
"No such thing," his grandfather said as he stepped closer. "Only being ready when the world shows up."
They stood in silence. The stars glowed above, far away but alive.
Simon looked at the rabbit, then at the sky. "Is Eron really going with him?"
"Aye," Halan said. "He turned eighteen last week. Lucen's taking him off-world. First time among the stars. Maybe even near the Deadzone."
They stood quietly for a few more seconds, then Halan lowered himself onto the grass with a small grunt. "Sit with me."
Simon hesitated, then sat beside him. The wind was softer now. The tall grass whispered. Above, the sky stretched forever—old and uncaring.
Simon's voice was small. "What if I'm not?"
Halan turned his head slightly.
"I mean… what if I'm not like them?" Simon said, still looking at the stars. "Eron's strong. Lyra's a mage. Father—he's more legend than person. I don't feel like I'm part of that. Not even part of the same story."
Halan didn't answer right away. He let the silence stay. The stars shimmered, untouched by doubt.
"I used to wonder," Halan said, "if my parents were wrong to name me a Goldenstar. I was the seventeenth child. The last. What could I offer that hadn't already been given?"
Simon turned to him, surprised.
Halan smiled—not with pride, but warmth. "Our parents were mages. Real ones. They could bend storms, raise mountains. But none of us got their gift. When they vanished into the Deadzone, they took the clan's magic with them."
He looked out at the plains. Starlight softened his eyes.
"But a clan isn't only made of power. Someone had to stay. To plant the fields. To teach the songs. To keep the name alive, even when the fire went out."
He rested both hands on his staff.
"I raised kids. Built homes. Taught your father to sail. Taught your aunt to read. And over time, those lives became the ground where Lyra was born."
Simon looked down, saying nothing.
"She's special, yes," Halan said. "But so is the root that holds the tree in place. So is the hand that keeps the sail steady."
He turned to Simon.
"You don't have to shine like your sister. Just stand firm. That's what the clan needs too."
Simon looked back at the sky.And for the first time, it didn't make him feel small.It made him feel like he belonged somewhere.
"I'll go with you now," he said, quietly.
Halan stood and tapped his staff against the ground. "Good. Your grandmother's probably making tea and pretending she's not worried."
Simon looked at the rabbit one last time. Then he gently placed it in the leather pouch at his side. As they walked home, he glanced up at the stars.
They still shimmered like always.But something in him had shifted.
He didn't need to burn like Lyra or strike like Eron.He would find his own kind of light.
Even if it took time to rise.