As they sat at the table of starlight, the surface before Dionida shimmered and shifted, no longer solid but deep and endless, like a sky turned inward. Stars drifted beneath her gaze, not pinned and distant as they were from the Grove, but alive—moving, breathing, being born and fading all at once. Some burned blue and sharp, others glowed soft and red, wrapped in faint rings of dust. Planets circled them in slow, graceful paths, each one carrying its own rhythm, its own quiet story.
Dionida leaned forward despite herself. Wonder pressed against her chest, warm and aching.
"So many…" she whispered. "Are these worlds real?"
"They are," one of the figures replied, their voice layered, as if many tones spoke together. "Every light you see is a choice made. Every planet, a consequence."
With a gentle motion, the stars rearranged. A spiral unfurled, vast and luminous, its arms turning like a slow dance.
