It was a late summer evening, the kind where the sun hangs low, bleeding gold over the rolling fields. I was driving down a narrow country road, heading toward a small village on the horizon. But a strange thing happened: no matter how hard I pressed the gas, the village stayed exactly where it was. It was a glitch in reality—a mirage that refused to get closer. When I stared at it, the houses seemed a mere stone’s throw away, but the moment I blinked, they retreated into the distance like a fading memory.
A cold shiver crept up my spine. I stopped the car, and just then, the engine died. The fuel gauge was half-full, yet the machine went silent, leaving me in an unnerving, absolute stillness. I climbed out and sat beneath an ancient, gnarled tree, my mind racing with a primal fear. Where am I? What is this place? Wrapped in those thoughts, I fell into a deep, heavy sleep.
I woke to a sky I didn’t recognize. It was deep midnight, and the stars weren't just twinkling—they were marching. They slid across the heavens like silver pieces on a velvet board, changing places in a silent, cosmic dance. I stood up, dizzy, as the sky seemed to dip so low I could almost touch the Milky Way. But as soon as I reached out, the heavens retreated.
"What is this place?!" I cried out into the void. "Is anyone there?"
"Please, sir, don't shout," a soft, melodic voice replied. "I’ve only just gotten them to settle down. You’ll frighten the stars."
I spun around. Behind me stood a girl, perhaps fifteen years old, with eyes that seemed to hold the pale light of the moon. Her hands moved through the air with the grace of a conductor, nudging stars into new constellations. When a light flickered out, she would lean in and gently breathe on it, rekindling its silver fire with her own breath. I stood frozen for twenty minutes, my mouth agape, lost in a place where time had no meaning.
"You’re afraid," she said, not looking away from her work. "And the sky feels your fear. Come closer. Raise your hands slowly, and the heavens will begin to trust you, too."
"Who are you?" I whispered. "What are you doing?"
"I am Amalia, Daughter of the Heavens," she smiled. "I help the lost stars find their way home. Some are tired and go dark; my task is to help them burn again. You have people in your world—those in cathedrals and shrines—who guide lost souls. I do the same, but my flock is made of light."
"Am I... in another world?"
"Yes," she replied gently. "You took a wrong turn and ended up here. But do not worry. Go back to your car, sleep, and by morning, the path will return to you."
Under her spell, I returned to my seat and fell into a dreamless sleep. I woke to the sound of birds and the warmth of the morning sun. The village was gone. The fields were empty. But as I stepped out of the car, my heart nearly stopped: my front wheels were inches away from a jagged, deep ravine that hadn't been there the night before.
The engine started on the first try. I drove away, shaking, but now, every time I look at the night sky, I search for the girl who weaves the light.
To be continued...
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