Beyond the Stars

Chapter 2: Welcome to Cassiopeia

Cassiopeia? What the heck is Cassiopeia? The word had fallen from someone's lips, echoing in my mind like a puzzle I didn't know how to solve. It sounded like a star in the night sky, the kind you'd see on a science poster in high school, not a place you could stand in, breathe in, or get lost in. But here I was. Why am I here? How did I get here? None of it made sense. My head spun with questions, and the one answer I wanted most was simple: I need to go home.

My mother must be so worried by now. It was my birthday. I was supposed to be at home, eating pancit and cake in our little house in Quezon City. My mom and dad had promised a "small party." Knowing them, it probably meant the living room full of balloons, mismatched paper plates, and my father's off-key singing on the karaoke machine. Now, instead of "Happy Birthday," all I had were strangers' stares.

I tried asking the people walking past me about Manila, about Quezon City. "Do you know where this is? Do you know the way back?" But every question was met with confusion, annoyance, or—worse—silence. Some people gave me a look like I was insane. Others didn't even slow down. Wow, so this is what it feels like to be ignored the way I ignore salesladies at the mall. When I pass by them without listening to their pitch, they must feel exactly like this—like they're not even people. If this was karma, it came at the worst time. I wasn't selling lotion or internet plans; I just wanted to go home.

I was exhausted from asking, from being invisible. My legs ached, my throat was dry. I slumped down on a shaded stone ledge, trying to gather myself. And then I saw it: a lake. It shimmered in the distance like a jewel, light glancing off its surface in a way that seemed unreal. As I walked toward it, I couldn't help but gape. The water was so clear I could see my reflection perfectly, every strand of my messy hair, every worry etched in my face. In Manila, you'd never find water like this. Lakes there were murky, brown, littered with trash. But this lake looked like a mirror crafted by the heavens.

Maybe I'm dreaming, I thought. Maybe if I wake up, this perfect place will vanish. But if it was a dream, I might as well enjoy it while it lasted. I dipped a toe into the water. Coolness spread up my leg. Without thinking, I slipped in, letting the water wrap around me. It was refreshing, intoxicating, like every stress in my body melted away. I swam—or tried to swim, at least. That was the problem. I didn't know how to swim.

Panic seized me as soon as the water pulled me deeper. I flailed, kicking wildly, gulping down mouthfuls of the lake. My lungs screamed. I tried to scream, to cry out, but only bubbles escaped. This was it. This was how my birthday ended—drowned in some place I didn't even understand. I gave up, surrendering to the weight of the water. But then—hands. Strong hands. They pulled me upward, breaking the surface.

I coughed, gasped, my vision blurry. But I knew one thing: I wasn't dead. "Thank you, sir," I managed, my voice trembling. The man who had saved me was tall, broad-shouldered, his expression sharp enough to cut glass. He had the kind of intimidating presence that made you feel like he could snap a person in half if he wanted. And he wasn't alone. Four other men stood around him, each with the same aura of danger and discipline. But what struck me most wasn't them—it was the woman they stood beside.

She was older, her hair streaked with silver, yet she radiated authority. A golden crown sat upon her head, and her gown shimmered in hues of emerald and gold. Her eyes were piercing, strong. The men bowed slightly toward her, deferential. Were they her bodyguards?

"Pay respect to the—" one of them began, but the woman raised her hand, silencing him. Instead, she looked directly at me. "Iha, aren't you supposed to fix yourself? It is the first day of school in Therondia."

Therondia? Another strange word, another puzzle. First Cassiopeia, now Therondia. "I... because I—" I started, but she cut me off briskly. "Come with me." Her voice carried such weight, such authority, that I couldn't say no. My mom always told me never talk to strangers, but this was no ordinary stranger. And truthfully, I had no idea where else to go. Complaining wouldn't help. So I followed.