Promise

  Skye shifted in his bed, wincing at every motion. He was more exhausted than yesterday, more contaminated, and more hurt, yet hours passed and he couldn’t sleep. The panacea had healed much of his wounds, but rest was needed for its full effect.

  Turning to face the window, he gazed at the stars. Travelers from distant lands named them, used them for guidance, but in his city, few saw past the rock ceiling above, so he only saw strangers. A faint smile touched his lips as he imagined lying on soft grass under the open sky with Rierana and Lyonel, inventing funny names for constellations. He wondered what they were doing now. Asleep, he concluded, then his thoughts drifted to the master.

  “He’s probably exorcising his ex-students,” Redeyes quipped, lounging on the windowsill and staring into the night.

  Skye turned away from the pyroxos, letting out a sigh. The master had been holed up in his vault for most of the day; how many students had he met today? How many had elected to stay?

  His bell materialized beside him, heavy as it had ever been, threatening to ring at any second. The master had marked him, but he didn’t want to explain his situation from scratch.

  Rising from bed, he avoided putting pressure on his still-healing ankle and made his way downstairs. There, he found Rico curled near the hearth, snoring softly. The master’s preferred spot on the nearby sofa was empty. As the wooden step beneath him creaked, Rico stirred, his ear twitching. He opened one eye, then rubbed it with a talon.

  “Skye? Why’re you up?” the parrot asked.

  “I need to see the master. Do you know where he is?”

  Rico yawned, his feathers ruffling. “In the basement still.”

  “Can you take me there? It’s urgent.”

  After a long journey through the perilous tunnels, they found the master seated on the ground, surrounded by the silent ghosts of his students in their glowing orbs. Tears streaked his face, his palms raised like a beggar asking for scraps.

  Huddled by the door, Skye averted his eyes, sensing he’d stumbled on something he wasn’t supposed to witness. No one would want to be seen at their lowest, especially someone as strong and renowned as the master. But then Rico strode in unabashed.

  “Sorry to disturb you, master,” Rico said. “Skye needs to speak with you.”

  The master lowered his hands and turned, a soft smile breaking through his tears, deepening wrinkles that betrayed his age. Without a word, he beckoned Skye forward.

  Skye approached, overwhelmed by the strange sensation that the glowing orbs were watching him. On a high shelf, Luccello perched, his gaze disapproving, while Ka’ib stood on the opposite corner, glaring with raw hatred.

  At the far end of the chamber, the bizarre broken device shifted shapes: first a fractured cylinder, then an inverted pyramid, then a shimmering polyhedron that seemed to gain and lose sides as it rotated midair.

  What is that thing?

  “I heard you performed well today at the storm cabin,” Ku said, dabbing at his tears with a napkin. “I’m sorry I couldn’t witness it.”

  Skye’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away. A part of him was relieved Ku hadn’t stayed until the end to see him fail. “I couldn’t reach the door.”

  “I didn’t expect you to reach it. Neither did I expect you to last that long. You did well.”

  Emotions welled inside Skye, and he fought to suppress them. He didn’t want to cry in front of the master again.

  “Is that all it takes to soothe your pride?” Redeyes asked. “You have no right to feel pride, no reason to hope. Not until you’ve saved the city.”

  “It’s your bell,” Ku said knowingly, his voice cutting through Skye’s dark thoughts.

  Skye nodded, wiping his eyes. “It’s about to ring. Can you delay it?”

  Ku shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s beyond me.”

  “Look at the pathetic fool, he can’t help himself. Why do you think he can help you?” Redeyes jeered.

  “But,” Ku continued, “after sufficient training with Psycho fantasia, you may learn to partially control it. I would have loved to start with mentalist training, but your head is overtly contaminated, and time is a currency we’re short on.”

  The old tortoise stood, his joints creaking, and picked up his cane. Channeling into it, he summoned his golden flower—the one he’d used to cast his spell on Skye. “Hold still,” he commanded as he inscribed a shimmering mark on Skye’s hand. “This spell is different. It marks you as my student. Whenever the curse activates, come to me and explain your situation, and I promise I’ll help. I only ask you forgive me if I make you repeat some details.”

  Skye’s mouth fell open in awe. Carrying a magical message on his person would make recovering from his curse much easier. “Thank you! Thank you!” he exclaimed, hopping in excitement.

  With a loud flutter, Luccello descended, perching on Skye’s head. “Now, now, back to bed with you,” he chided. “You’ll wake early tomorrow, and the master still has work tonight.” The bird conjured a glowing glove of light, nudging Skye toward the door.

  “Wait,” Skye protested, digging in his heels. “Why were you on your knees? What were you doing?”

  “I was praying,” the master replied calmly.

  “What for?”

  “To ask God for strength to endure these hard days and the wisdom to guide me to do what is right.”

  Skye frowned. “Does prayer work?”

  Ku’s eyes softened. “We don’t pray just to get what we want. We pray to acknowledge our weakness, to rely on God, and to give thanks for what we have, no matter how little. Sometimes, our prayers are answered as we hope. Other times, the results come in ways we don’t expect, or we may only know their effects when we stand at the Twin Gates.”

  With so much uncertainty, Skye didn’t know why anyone would bother praying. It sounded like a poor investment of time and effort. Yet he was desperate and needed every ounce of help he could get.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Pray to me, your wishes are as likely to get answered,” Redeyes said. “At least you’ll know someone’s listening.”

  Skye ignored him. “If we’d prayed in the cave, when my teammates were killed… would God have saved them?”

  “Perhaps,” was all the master said.

  “And perhaps he’d hear and still let them die?”

  Ku leaned forward, voice steady. “Skye, we are all going to die someday, that’s the nature of life. And when someone’s time comes, nothing can postpone it. But that isn’t cause for despair. When God wills good for someone, their soul departs at the moment that is best for them. Living longer might have brought evil to them or their loved ones, in this life or the next.”

  Skye’s hands balled into fists as hot blood rushed to his head. “Are you saying it was a good thing my teammates were killed? Do you know how much they suffered?”

  He didn’t know why he felt so close to tears. Ku’s God was a stranger to him, a being he wasn’t sure existed. Yet, the thought that this deity might deem his friends’ deaths “for the best” felt like a betrayal.

  Ku leaned back in his chair. “Sit down,” he said gently, pulling a second chair closer.

  “I don’t want to.”

  “This will be a while, and your injured foot needs rest.”

  Begrudgingly, Skye sat cross-legged on the ground instead of taking the chair.

  “Have you heard the legend of the Keeper of Stars?” Ku asked.

  Skye shook his head. The name sounded absurd. How could anyone “keep” stars? His gaze wandered to the shelves around him, stacked with spirits of fallen channelers. If the master could keep heroes, perhaps someone else could’ve kept stars.

  “I love this story!” Rico exclaimed, bouncing in place. He bounded over, settling beside Skye, eyes sparkling with excitement.

  “I have a feeling I’ll hate it,” Redeyes said, lounging behind Skye with his back to Ku.

  The master gripped his cane, fingers tapping rhythmically against its side until a lilac lily bloomed at its tip. “A long time ago, there lived a noble man who loved the stars.”

  He waved a hand, pulling at the very lights emanating from the orbs, gathering them in the middle of the room into the miniature silhouette of a long-haired man. Unlike Luccello’s abstract projections, this illusion was breathtakingly detailed. The figure’s translucent hair flowed as though caught in a gentle breeze, its movements lending the image a ghostly life.

  “The man cherished the stars and knew them as intimately as the back of his own hand,” the master continued.

  Above, the ceiling transformed into a star-strewn night sky. The long-haired man gazed up at it with a warm, almost paternal smile. Ever so slowly, the scene rotated, giving Skye a view of the man from every angle as he stood amidst the celestial panorama.

  “He loved the stars as though they were his children and dedicated his life to their care. Whenever the light of a star began to dim and its heart to cool, he’d nurture it back to health, feeding it on his own fantasia.”

  One of the stars above flickered weakly, its glow fading. The man raised a hand, releasing a beam of light that restored its brilliance.

  “Most people didn’t know the nobleman or his vital work, but travelers revered him. For without his care, they would be lost at sea or stranded in deserts, bereft of their guiding lights. Unfortunately, not everyone shared his love for the stars. Some viewed them only as tools, while others despised their light and yearned to snuff it out.”

  The man’s figure dissolved, replaced by a shadowy group huddled together, whispering in each other’s ears. “And so, these malevolent forces conspired in the darkest corners of the Dunya to steal the stars and plunge the universe into an Eternal Night.”

  The conspirators vanished into swirling mist. Above, the stars began to wink out one by one, leaving black voids where they once hung.

  “How can anyone steal stars?” Skye asked, his brow furrowed.

  “No one knows how it was done,” the master admitted. With another gesture, the long-haired man reappeared, walking alone under the darkening sky. “As days passed, the man noticed his beloved stars disappearing. He investigated, searching tirelessly, traveling across the Dunya to uncover the truth. Eventually, he learned of the conspiracy.”

  The scene shifted to reveal the shadow-clad conspirators, their laughter cruel and mocking as they watched the man’s despair. “Determined to fight back, the nobleman resolved to stop the Night Thieves. But he couldn’t do it alone. And so, he journeyed far and wide, asking kings and paupers alike for aid.”

  Images flashed of the man climbing mountains, sailing vast seas, and marching in bustling cities. He spoke with beings of all shapes and sizes—some luminous, others winged or half-fish, many had no human features at all. Their forms were so strange and wonderful, Skye wanted to meet them all.

  “Most doubted him,” the master said, his voice tinged with sorrow. “They called him a liar, mocked his claims, and turned him away. Even those who believed him refused to join his cause, dismissing it as too dangerous or hopeless.”

  The images grew darker. The nobleman was pelted with rotten vegetables, chased by snarling beastmen astride giant hyenas, and driven from courts in disgrace. Finally, he appeared bruised, panting, and alone, hiding in a shadowy burrow.

  “Each night, as he looked to the sky, he saw fewer and fewer of his children. After all the years he spent nourishing them, every loss felt like a piece of his soul being torn away. One night, he looked up and saw no stars at all. Darkness had swallowed the whole of the Dunya.”

  A harrowing shadow crept into the room. It oozed from the walls, the ceiling, and even from Skye himself. Skye gasped, pulling away, watching as the nobleman stood alone on an isolated island of light as the writhing tendrils crept closer.

  “People panicked, searching desperately for light without success. Monsters rose from the shadows, empowered by the endless eclipse—fiends of bone and thorn, harbingers of death and decay. They roamed freely through towns, farms, cities, and fortresses alike.”

  In the center of the room, the light twisted into a miniature village with tiny houses, shops, and inns bustling with outlines of little people going about their lives. Suddenly, horrible creatures with too many limbs and jagged claws swarmed the town, tearing through its inhabitants. Flames consumed the village, leaving behind a smoking ruin littered with lifeless bodies.

  “Everyone believed life and light had lost, and that darkness and death would rule forever. Cities burned, kingdoms crumbled into dust, and the Night Thieves reveled in their triumph, drunk on victory.”

  Skye watched in horror as towers toppled and buildings collapsed, as monstrous hordes hunted and slaughtered fleeing refugees. Above them all, in place of the stars, shadowy figures watched the massacres below, and laughed.

  “During those hopeless times, one man refused to surrender. Whether driven by faith, longing, or sheer defiance, the man who loved the stars fought on, alone.”

  The lights swelled to draw the man trudging through a field of withered crops. “Months passed, then years, and decades, until people forgot what they had long ago lost. Children grew not knowing the concepts of sun or day. Yet the nobleman marched on, carrying the banner of resistance and inspiring many to join his cause.”

  Over vast dunes of sand, others began to walk beside him: figures of all shapes and sizes, armed with strange weapons and clad in bizarre armor. “It was grueling work, marred by uncertainty, filled with pain, loss, and sacrifice. With every step forward on the cold sands, his companions fell, one by one, until only a few remained.”

  The master’s voice softened. “He nearly gave up. Almost drowned in doubt, he wanted to announce defeat. Yet, he pressed on until, against all odds, he found the thieves and waged battle against them for a hundred days and nights.”

  A grand battle unfolded, the nobleman’s forces clashing with the shadowy figures, members on both sides dissolving into mist. “At the end, the nobleman prevailed. He released the stars, scattering them across the universe, and restored their light, bringing life and hope back to the Dunya.”

  The empty sky filled with shimmering stars of every color and size. Beneath them, the nobleman stood surrounded by joyous, laughing figures. “After the Night War, people began calling him the Keeper of Stars. His story inspired generations to persevere, no matter how impossible the odds. Whenever I feel lost, I like to think of him and how he’d fought for decades in utter darkness.”

  The master waved his hand, and the light theater dissolved, with the smiling face of the Keeper of Stars being the last to go.

  “That’s it?” Redeyes scoffed, smacking a fist against the ground. “This was the most pointless story I’ve ever heard. Anyone can invent such childish drivel. Have you heard the tale of the Keeper of Butts? When all the butts in the Dunya disappeared and people couldn’t sit, poop, or pull lies out of their backsides anymore, a nobleman saved the day by restoring all butts! Don’t ask me how he did it, it’s a secret. What an inspiring individual!”

  Skye had enjoyed the story, but he too failed to understand its point. “How did he succeed?”

  The master flashed a toothy grin. “Legend says the Keeper of Stars created a powerful asterism that was the key to his victory.”

  The light coalesced in the shape of a book with a cover made of starry night, and words written in flames. Skye gasped at the majestic scene, reaching for it.

  “Starmoire he’d called it,” the master continued. “A grimoire brimming with unparalleled power and knowledge, containing the secrets to his success. After the battle, he hid it in a secure location, lost to history. Many have sought it, hoping to share in the Keeper’s strength. One such man was the Keeper of Secrets, who devoted much of his life to finding it.”