A Sea of Tears and Stars (18+)

ｐｒｏｌｏｇｕｅ

"For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love."

—Carl Sagan

This is the tale of the beginning.

In the infinite expanse, a single grain of light drifted quietly through the darkness. It was watched by Samayam (Time), toyed with by Gurutva (Gravity), and gently caressed by Akasha (Space).

His name was Ananta, the little star that breathed life and light into the silent, shadowed dominion of the three gods.

Yet even in all his brilliance, loneliness wrapped him like a shroud. A longing so vast it rivaled the void itself.

If only I had someone, he whispered once, perhaps everything would change.

His sorrow moved the gods.

And in their strange, divine tenderness, they shattered his light.

From his brilliance, Nitya was born.

With her arrival, joy blossomed where despair once clung; at last, Ananta's heart found its twin.

From that moment, they could not be parted. Ananta and Nitya spun together, reflecting each other's glow, weaving joyous melodies that rose and fell through the vast quiet. Songs so radiant even the gods paused to listen.

Yet the gods feared such love—its unbridled wildness, its defiance of order—and they sought to temper it.

And so, when they tried to separate the two stars, Ananta and Nitya exploded, shattering into billions of luminous strands.

Each strand carried a dream where the two could remain together.

From those dreams, the galaxies were born. Stars and planets. Oceans and forests. Creatures that breathed and sang. And to this day, if you listen closely—in the sigh of the wind, in the warmth of sun and moon—their songs still linger. Every string of the universe carries their love, gleaming like a secret in the dark.

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"Jon."

The voice was soft—soft enough to slip between his ribs.

It pulled him from sleep.

His eyes opened slowly. He rose and glanced around the dim room, as though the shadows themselves might speak.

Beside him on the bed lay a woman, her skin bare and pale under the faint light. Her wavy, red hair splayed across the pillow like blood spilled on snow.

He reached out, letting the silky strands slip through his fingers, but she didn't stir. Not her. The sweet voice couldn't possibly be hers.

Sighing, he buried his face in his hands, fingers pressing into his temples. Then he rose, bare, with the casual grace of someone who had done this a thousand times before. He plucked a pack of cigarettes from the dresser and strode to the window.

He parted the black curtains just enough to let the day in.

Outside, the sun—Sola—was already high above Earth Five. Below, the trade fair churned with life: Gaians and off-worlders pressed shoulder to shoulder, voices rising above the music of bells and wind. It's the same crowded place where, last night, he'd met the woman now asleep in his bed.