The Stars Speak

prologue

The village smelled like warm bread, woodsmoke, and wildflowers. Sunlight spilled over everything, drizzling like warm golden honey, over rooftops, linen tents, the curved glass jars of fruit preserves lined up along merchant stalls. The Starwatch festival had arrived.

Helyra ran barefoot down the cobbled path, her flower crown bouncing fraily on her head, clutching to her tousled strands for dear life. The stones were hot beneath her feet, and she liked the way the heat pulsed through her soles.

Behind her, her baby brother Kero squealed with joy, strapped tightly to their father's back with a swath of blue fabric. His arms flailed in clumsy excitement every time a ribbon dancer spun past. Their father chuckled, reaching back to steady the baby with a practised hand.

"Lyra!" her mother called out, half-laughing, half-scolding. "You'll trip!"

Helyra twirled once, then let herself get caught. Her mother knelt to her level and brushed a stray curl from her cheek. Her hands smelled like honey and dough.

"You'll melt into a puddle before sundown," her mother murmured, pretending to check her cheeks for fever. "Look at you. Dirt on your ankles. Wild in the hair."

"I'm a Starborn!" Helyra announced proudly.

Her mother's eyes softened, and she laughed softly. "Of course you are. The brightest one in the sky."

"And the most feral it seems", her father chimed in, giving her a cheeky wink. Helyra stuck her tongue out at him playfully before spinning around and returning to her frenzied sprint down the path. 

Nearby, festival-goers bustled between booths strung with banners. There were candied plums, woven garlands, and tiny flutes carved from river wood. Children darted in packs, holding star-shaped lanterns on sticks. Someone was roasting something sweet, and the scent twisted through the air. Fiddles picked up a lively tune. The crowd began to clap in rhythm.

They were preparing for the Starwatch—a Taritosa tradition to honour the heavens. When the stars came out, the villagers would sing to the sky and send their hopes into the dark on drifting paper lanterns.

The beautiful Taritosa, the land of sea and stars.  That's what the poets called it. And on days like this, it was easy to believe it was true.

Nestled between the towering mountains, ocean cliffs and crescent bays, Taritosa shimmered with quiet majesty. White-stone villages clung to the hillsides like pearls, and skybridges wound between observatories that caught moonlight in their domes. Colourful roofs, lantern trimmed in gold; the people were proud, sun-browned, and sea-weathered. They told stories to the wind and sang blessings to the stars.

The House of Laevora, Helyra's family, had ruled for generations. They were not kings and queens but rulers who bore the title of Starwardens—guardians of the people, chosen by lineage but bound by service. But as much as the people of Taritosa revered the Laevoras, their rule was never truly theirs alone.

The sun dipped lower, turning the sky a lazy apricot-orange as the crowd began to thin. A few families lingered near the fire circle or traced runes into sand trays for blessings, but Helyra's father steered them toward the path that led out of the village, past the wind-bent trees and crooked fences, down to the shore.

They arrived at the beach just as the tide pulled back like a shy child retreating into its mother's skirts.

The sand was warm and pale, littered with silver shells and driftwood. The sea beyond it was endless and blue, the colour of pressed glass and distant dreams. A breeze lifted off the water, cool and smelling faintly of salt, seaweed, and the ghost of rain.