Darkstar

Chapter One: The Morning Chores

Alex Connelly woke before dawn, the sky still a deep purple, with only a faint promise of light on the horizon. He swung his legs out of bed and pulled on his worn boots, the same ones he had been wearing for two years now. At sixteen, Alex was tall and lean, with blonde hair that always fell in his eyes and a pair of blue eyes that mirrored the endless sky above the fields. His hands, rough and calloused from years of challenging work on the farm, flexed as he grabbed his jacket from the chair.

The old farmhouse groaned softly as the wind picked up outside. It was not much—a small two-story home that had seen better days—but it was his, or rather, his grandparents.' The Connelly family had lived on this land for three generations, and while Alex did not remember much about his parents, he knew they had worked this farm just like his grandparents before them.

He passed by the old family photos hanging in the hallway, pausing for just a second at the one of his parents. They were young in the picture, smiling broadly in front of a field of wheat, the same wheat that now waved outside under the early morning sky. Alex's father had the same strong jawline, the same blue eyes, and his mother's face was soft and warm, just like the way his grandma would talk about her. He barely remembered them, but sometimes he wished he did.

Shaking off the thought, he headed down the creaky stairs and into the kitchen where the smell of coffee filled the air. His grandma was already awake, like always, humming to herself as she cooked breakfast. Her gray hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and her wrinkled hands moved deftly as she flipped pancakes on the stove.

"Mornin,' Alex," she said without turning around.

"Mornin,' Grandma," he replied, grabbing a piece of toast from the plate on the counter.

"You sleep well?" she asked, her voice kind but filled with the same no-nonsense tone she always had.

"Yeah, pretty good," Alex lied. Truthfully, he had barely slept. He had been restless, thinking about the upcoming harvest and the amount of work ahead. But there was no sense in worrying her. His grandpa had always told him that worrying never got a field plowed.

"Your grandpa's already out in the barn," she said, sliding a fresh stack of pancakes onto a plate. "Go give him a hand when you're ready."

Alex nodded and wolfed down the rest of his toast. He grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door and stepped out into the cool morning air. The sky was lighter now, with streaks of pink and gold spreading across the horizon. The farm stretched out before him—acres of wheat, corn, and pastureland. It was peaceful, quiet except for the occasional call of a bird or the soft rustling of leaves in the wind.

The barn stood a little ways from the house, its red paint faded and peeling. Inside, his grandpa, a tall, wiry man with silver hair and sharp blue eyes, was already at work, pitching hay into the cows' stalls. He looked up as Alex entered.

"Bout time you showed up," his grandpa grunted with a grin. "Cows don't feed themselves; you know."

Alex smiled. "Figured I'd give you a head start."

They worked in comfortable silence, the only sounds the rhythmic scrape of hay being moved and the occasional low moo from the cows. His grandpa had been doing this work his whole life, and even though he was getting on in years, he could still outwork men half his age. Alex had always admired him for that.

"School's startin' up soon," his grandpa said after a while, breaking the silence. "You ready for it?"

Alex shrugged. He did not mind school, but he would rather be out here on the farm. School felt like another world, one that did not fit with his life. "I guess."

His grandpa nodded, as if that answer were enough. "Well, you are smart, Alex. You have a good head on your shoulders. Just remember, school ain't everything, but it is important."

Alex knew his grandpa did not say much, but when he did, it mattered. He had been raised on this farm after his parents' accident, and his grandparents had done their best to give him a normal life. They never talked much about what happened, and Alex did not ask. It was just how things were.

They finished feeding the cows, and Alex walked to the edge of the pasture, looking out over the rolling fields. The sun had risen fully now, casting a golden glow across the land. This was his home, where he belonged. The farm had been there through everything, through the loss and the challenging times, but it had always been steady, always kept going. Just like him.

As he stood there, watching the wheat sway in the breeze, Alex felt something stir in his chest—a sense of pride, of belonging. He did not know what the future held, but he knew this farm, this land, was part of him. It had shaped him, just as his grandparents had. Whatever came next, whether it was school or something else, he would face it. He was a Connelly, after all.

"Come on, Alex," his grandpa called from behind him. "We got more work to do before breakfast."

Alex smiled to himself and turned back toward the barn, ready for whatever the day had in store.