The night sky split open like a wound.
It began as a soft hum, a shiver in the wind that made the trees lean eastward, as though the whole forest had drawn a breath. Then the heavens tore apart. A ribbon of silver fire blazed across the dark, bright enough to drown the moon, scattering sparks that looked like falling souls.
Animals fled before the light. Wolves pressed flat to the earth; the river frothed and hissed. For one heartbeat, every creature on Earth felt it—the touch of something ancient, wounded, divine.
Then came the crash.
A streak of light plunged through the canopy and struck the heart of the forest. The ground convulsed. Shockwaves rippled outward, flattening trees and shattering the silence of centuries. When the rumbling ceased, only embers floated through the dark like lost stars.
At the center of the impact lay a girl.
She was curled among the broken roots, her skin pale as moonstone, hair silver-white and tangled with ash. Around her, nine trails of light flickered briefly, then dimmed—tails dissolving into mist. The smell of iron filled the air. Rain began to fall, gentle at first, then hard enough to drown the lingering fire.
The girl stirred. A tremor ran through her slender frame.
Her eyes opened.
For a moment, the world tilted—sky and soil switching places, memory and darkness warring for control. She saw flashes: a palace made of clouds, a thousand stars bowing before her, a hand reaching out… then pain, betrayal, fire.
The vision shattered.
She gasped, tasting dirt, rain, and blood.
When she tried to rise, her limbs obeyed sluggishly, as if they remembered someone else's command. The forest glowed faintly under the afterburn of her fall, yet every leaf felt heavy with fear. She looked down at herself—torn garments that shimmered faintly like celestial silk, now crusted with soil. Her hands trembled.
Where are my tails?
Her fingers brushed the base of her spine. Nothing. No warmth, no fur, no whisper of power. She inhaled sharply, panic flashing across her face. The air thickened; the rain seemed to hesitate.
Her name slipped out on a breath."...Liara."
The sound of it made the air tremble—as if the trees recognized her. But no answer came from the stars above. The bond was gone. The song that had always hummed behind her heartbeat had vanished into silence.
She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady the ache that wasn't just in her body. The loss of the tails meant more than beauty; it meant her essence had been ripped away. A nine-tailed fox spirit stripped of her tails was a soul half-dead.
Lightning licked across the clouds, revealing the crater that had swallowed half the forest. She staggered out of it, bare feet sinking into mud, vision blurred by rain. Each step left faint traces of silver light that quickly vanished.
Somewhere nearby, water ran. She followed the sound until she found a stream swollen with stormwater. Kneeling, she cupped her hands and drank greedily, though the taste of iron lingered on her tongue. In the water's surface, she caught her reflection—eyes pale gold, glowing faintly even in shadow.
"I've fallen," she whispered, voice hoarse. "From where…?"
She tried to remember the stars, her realm, the faces of those she once called kin. But the images slipped away like smoke. Only one feeling remained—betrayal sharp as glass. And a whisper of a voice that wasn't hers: Run.
So she did.
Branches tore at her arms as she stumbled through the forest. Every rustle made her heart race. The world felt wrong—heavy, mortal, loud. The scent of humans drifted faintly on the air: smoke, metal, fear. She avoided it, moving deeper until exhaustion forced her to stop beneath a twisted cedar.
There, she sank to the roots, drawing her knees close. Rain drummed on her shoulders; mud clung to her skin. She should have felt cold, but the greater chill came from within—an emptiness where her magic had been. Without it, she couldn't heal, couldn't shift, couldn't call light. She was trapped in fragile flesh.
Tears welled before she could stop them. They gleamed silver as they fell, sinking into the soil like tiny stars. "I don't belong here," she whispered to the dark. "But I have nowhere else."
The forest did not answer.
Only an owl hooted, and far away, thunder murmured like a grieving god.
Hours passed. The storm eased. Mist curled low across the ground. Liara's body grew stiff, but her senses sharpened—the rustle of small creatures, the heartbeat of rain dripping from leaves, the faint warmth of dawn edging the horizon.
Then came another sound: voices. Human.
She froze.
"…over here! Something hit last night. The trees are down."
Male, rough, confident. The smell of oil and lantern smoke followed. She ducked behind a fallen trunk, heart hammering.
Three men entered the clearing, carrying torches. Villagers, perhaps hunters. Their boots squelched in the mud as they examined the crater.
"What in the gods' names…" one muttered, poking at a melted branch. "Looks like lightning, but—"
"No lightning does this," said another, older, his eyes narrow. He crouched, touching the blackened earth. "Something fell. Maybe a spirit. Maybe a curse."
Liara held her breath.
The youngest pointed suddenly. "Tracks! Small ones. Bare feet—headed north."
The leader straightened. "Then something survived. Let's find it before it brings misfortune."
They began following her path. Liara's pulse raced. She backed away slowly, stepping into the creek to mask her scent, then waded downstream, the cold biting into her legs. The men's voices faded behind her, swallowed by the rain.
When she finally dared to stop, the sky was paling. Dawn painted the world in muted silver. Her strength was nearly gone. Each breath came shallow, ragged. The stream led her to an open glade where a shrine stood half-buried in moss—a stone fox, its face worn smooth by time.
Liara stared at it, heart aching. The statue's eyes seemed to watch her with sorrow.
"Once, we were worshiped," she murmured. "Now we are hunted."
She knelt before it and pressed her forehead to the cold stone. "Forgive me. I failed them all."
Wind stirred through the clearing, carrying a whisper—soft, like the rustle of tails. It might have been imagination, or maybe the world still remembered what she was.
She curled beneath the shrine's roof, too tired to move. Sleep came in fragments: flashes of burning palaces, screams, silver blood spilling on marble floors. The voice returned—deep, commanding, cruel. You betrayed us. You will fall until you forget.
Liara woke with a start, gasping. The dream clung to her like frost.
A shadow passed overhead. She tensed—but it was only a bird taking flight. The morning was clear now, the forest glittering with dew. Somewhere, smoke rose—human habitation nearby. Her stomach clenched painfully.
Food. Shelter.
Two things she'd never needed in her immortal life were now urgent, humiliating necessities.
"I'll… find a way," she whispered. Her voice cracked, but determination flickered through her exhaustion. "I must survive. For what, I don't know—but I must."
She stood, unsteady but resolved. The shrine's fox statue seemed to watch her go, sunlight glinting briefly off its stone eyes as if blessing her.
By midday she reached the forest's edge. Beyond it lay rolling fields and a distant village—rooftops smoking gently, humans moving like ants. The sight stirred conflicting emotions: longing for warmth and company, fear of rejection.
Her kind had always been called monsters.
She wrapped her tattered cloak tighter, hiding her strange silver hair. The fabric shimmered faintly even in shadow. She tugged it down over her eyes and stepped into the open.
The road was rough, lined with wildflowers. A farmer passing by gave her a wary look but said nothing. She kept her gaze low, pretending to be ordinary. Yet everywhere she went, she felt eyes following—the whisper of suspicion, the prickle of fear.
Children pointed. A dog growled.
When she passed a puddle, she caught her reflection again: the glow in her irises hadn't fully faded. Panic fluttered in her chest. She turned quickly into a narrow path between houses, searching for a place to hide.
Behind the village, near the river, she found an abandoned shed leaning against a willow tree. Inside were old tools, cobwebs, and dry hay. It smelled of dust and mice—but it was shelter.
Liara sank to the floor. Her body trembled, hunger gnawing deep. She closed her eyes, trying to remember the taste of celestial fruit, the warmth of starlight. All she had now was the scent of earth and the ache of mortality.
She drifted between waking and sleep.
Outside, voices echoed faintly—a woman scolding a child, laughter, a bell marking noon. It felt painfully alive. She envied it.
A drop of light fell through a crack in the roof, landing on her hand. It glowed for an instant, then faded. She watched it, tears stinging her eyes.
"I'm still here," she whispered. "Still… falling."
Night returned. The villagers retreated indoors. Somewhere far above, clouds parted to reveal a sky glittering with unfamiliar constellations. Liara crept outside and stared upward.
The stars no longer answered.
But one—the faintest—seemed to pulse in rhythm with her heartbeat, like a promise or a warning.
She touched her chest. "If you can hear me… whoever you are… I'll find my way back."
Her voice trembled in the cold. The wind carried it away, threading through the trees, past the fields, toward a distant mansion on the hill—where a young man sat awake, sketching the stars in an old notebook. The faint echo of her words brushed his heart, though he didn't understand why.
And so, beneath the same wounded sky, two souls looked up—unaware that destiny had already bound them.