Narrator: “”The world didn’t end when the star appeared.

  It simply… changed,”

  It was a Tuesday night—an ordinary, sleepless one. Piper Orin sat cross-legged on her bed, legs jittering to the quiet hum of her fan. Her room was dimly lit by a lamp shaped like Saturn. Posters of space, robots, and hand-drawn constellations were tacked unevenly on the walls. Her journal lay open beside her, unfinished. Page 64: “What if stars aren’t far away? What if they’re just… waiting?”

  She didn’t know that tonight, the universe had decided to answer her question.

  A glow bloomed from her desk.

  Faint.

  Strange.

  Piper turned her head.

  There, floating just above her old laptop, was a star.

  Not a drawing.

  Not a toy.

  A real, radiant, spinning thing—warm and alive, pulsing like a heartbeat made of light.

  She didn’t scream. She didn’t run.

  She stood. Walked to it. Slowly.

  This is a dream, she thought.

  But when her fingers brushed the star, it sang.

  And the world exploded.

  She was falling.

  Not like gravity-falling.

  No.

  This was like being torn through something.

  Images passed her—faces, fragments, flowers growing backward, stars made of hands. Her body glowed gold. Her skin turned a luminous yellow hue. Her hair drifted into inky black strands, like a comet streaking through dreamspace.

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  When she hit the ground, she heard everything.

  THUMP.

  Pain.

  Dirt. Air that smelled like burnt fog and wild electricity. Piper groaned, pushing herself up.

  She wasn’t in her bedroom anymore.

  She was in a forest. But not a forest like Earth had. The trees here had glowing veins. The grass shimmered like silver static. The sky above her was shattered—literally. Cracked like a broken mirror, with swirling galaxies visible behind each shard.

  “…Oh no,” Piper whispered. She’s in the dream.

  A rustle.

  Something moved behind her. Then in front.

  A shadow slithered out from the fog. It had no legs. Just too many arms. Its face looked like melting masks fused together, whispering in reverse.

  It screamed.

  Piper screamed back.

  But before she could run—her hands moved on their own.

  And the light returned.

  BOOM!

  Fire, not red but white-yellow, erupted from her palms. It wasn’t normal fire—it was cosmic. A barrage of miniature suns shot into the sky, then plummeted down like wrathful meteors. The creature didn’t even have time to react before it was burned into nothing but smoke and silence.

  Piper stood, shaking, staring at her own hands.

  Piper (in her mind): “…What the hell just happened?”

  She wandered for hours. At least, it felt like hours. There was no sun. No moon. Just a sky full of stars that didn’t move and clouds that occasionally blinked.

  Eventually, she stumbled upon a village—if you could call it that.

  Half the buildings floated in midair. One house was upside down. Another looked like it had been erased from the world entirely, leaving a hole where a door should be. Still, there were lanterns lit. Soft fires burning in suspended metal cages.

  She collapsed near the edge, breath catching in her chest. Her knees were bleeding. Her thoughts spiraling.

  ???: “Hey!”

  The voice startled her.

  A girl, about her age, approached with a glowing lantern. She had sky-blue hair and boots made of mismatched scrap. One eye was covered by a piece of old glass.

  Girl: “You’re not from here, are you?” she asked, tilting her head.

  Piper blinked.

  The girl smiled gently.

  “This is Lucidfall.”

  Later, Piper sat in a hollowed-out church converted into a resting space. Someone handed her a drink that tasted like stars and mint. Her name was Sera. She didn’t ask too many questions, which Piper appreciated.

  The photo in Piper’s pocket—of her family—had changed.

  The faces were blurred now. Faded, as if forgotten.

  Piper’s fingers tightened.

  Voices in her head: “Something’s wrong with me.”

  From the far side of the church, a voice spoke. Low. Calm. Male.

  ???: “No,” he said. “Something’s wrong with the world.”

  Piper turned.

  A boy, maybe a year or two older, leaned against the wall. He wore a scarf that floated despite no wind and had the number “13” stitched into his sleeve.

  Thirteen: “I’m Thirteen,” he said, as if that explained anything. “You’re not the first to fall through. But you might be the last.”

  Piper narrowed her eyes. Her face off the impression of “What does that mean?”

  Thirteen’s gaze didn’t waver.

  Thirteen: “It means the stars are waking up. And they’re not all friendly.”

  Thirteen: “Come, I’ll show ya around..”

  END OF CHAPTER 1