The fire was temperamental tonight. It flared high one moment, spitting sparks, then sank low the next, as though unsure whether to stay alive. I nudged a log with the toe of my boot and watched a few orange embers scatter into the snow. The cold crept closer every time the flames faltered, but nobody said a word about it. They were waiting.


    I shifted, pulling the wool blanket tighter around my shoulders. “You want a story,” I said finally, my voice carrying just enough to rise over the soft pop of the wood. “Not just any story will do, though. You want one with substance?”


    The boy closest to me nodded. His cheeks were red from the cold and his breath curled in the air like smoke. “A real one,” he said.


    I smiled at that—not wide, but just enough to show I understood. “Alright. I’ll tell you a real one. But don’t thank me for it. Stories like this don’t come cheap.”


    The circle around the fire leaned in. Boots scraped against the icy ground, and someone’s scarf caught the wind and fluttered loose before they tucked it back. It always happened like this. No matter how many times I told this one, it settled into people differently. Heavier, maybe. Or sharper.


    I glanced up at the sky, clear tonight, the stars bright enough to make you forget how far away they really were. “You see those?” I asked, tilting my head. A few faces followed my gaze, though most just waited. “They’ve been watching us longer than we’ve been watching them. They’re old. Old enough to remember things we’ve forgotten—or tried to.”


    The fire snapped louder, throwing a flicker of light against their faces. I could see it now, the questions forming, but I didn’t let the silence stretch too far. Too much quiet, and they’d start doubting whether they wanted to know the answers.


    “Once,” I began, “there was a city. Elurinda. It sat high on a plateau, tucked between mountains, surrounded by desert so vast and empty, it might as well have been the edge of the world. You’d think that would make it lonely, but it wasn’t. The mountains cradled it, and the stars—well, the stars loved it.”


    I paused, letting the rhythm settle, then shook my head. “Or so the people there believed. They thought the stars weren’t just lights in the sky. They were guides. Maps. Keys to everything worth knowing. Creation, destruction, life, death. All of it.”


    “They were right,” someone muttered, though they didn’t sound sure.


    I met their eyes, steady and unblinking. “In a way,” I said. “But here’s the thing about the stars. They don’t give answers. They give questions. Hard ones. Dangerous ones. And Elurinda… they thought they could answer them.”


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The circle had gone very still. Even the youngest ones who usually fidgeted had their eyes locked on the fire now, the flames catching and holding their focus. Good. This wasn’t a story for wandering thoughts.


    “They were brilliant,” I went on, my voice dropping a little, quieter but sharper somehow. “The people of Elurinda. Builders. Dreamers. They weren’t content just to live under the stars—they wanted to understand them. To wield them. They built temples that glowed in the dark, towers that seemed to pierce the sky itself. And when they looked up, they didn’t see distance. They saw opportunity.”


    I ran my fingers over the edge of the blanket, feeling the roughness of the weave. “One night, a long time ago, the stars aligned in ways they hadn’t in centuries. A rare pattern, so perfect it was like the universe was holding its breath. The people of Elurinda had been waiting for this. Preparing. They said the stars spoke to them that night, and what they heard… it was too much to resist.”


    Someone near the back shifted, their boots crunching against the snow. I let the sound settle before I spoke again. “They decided they could take a piece of the stars for themselves. Hold their light. Harness their power. They called it the Orb.”


    The word landed heavy in the air, the kind of word that lingered long after it was spoken. I kept my voice low, deliberate now, almost soft. “The Orb was supposed to be their triumph. A vessel for the stars’ energy, a way to touch creation itself. And for a moment… for one shining, terrible moment… they almost did.”


    I didn’t let the quiet stretch this time. “But the stars,” I said, “don’t let go easily. And neither did the Orb.”


    The fire hissed, and the wind picked up, sharp and fleeting, before settling again. “This is the story of what happened next,” I said, pulling the blanket closer around me. “It’s not a story about hope, or even about failure. It’s a story about what happens when we forget who we are.”


    I leaned back slightly, feeling the eyes of the circle fixed on me now, heavy with questions they weren’t ready to ask yet. “But don’t think this story is just theirs,” I added. “Because it never really was.”


    The flames steadied, their glow spilling over the faces around me, making their eyes look older than they were. I let the silence hang this time, just long enough for them to feel it.


    “It begins,” I said finally, “with a city of stars.”