Smoke still curled from the crater, drifting upward like lost souls. The night had quieted, but the earth was not yet done trembling. Ash clung to every leaf; the once-green forest now looked like a field of ghosts.
Liara stumbled out from the wreckage, her breath ragged. Each step sank into soot and mud. The silk of her robe hung in tatters around her, torn by branches and flame. Her once-glowing skin had dulled to a mortal hue, faint streaks of silver still pulsing beneath as if her spirit refused to fade completely.
Her hands trembled. She lifted one, palm outward, and whispered in a tongue that used to command the stars. A wisp of light flickered above her fingertips—then died with a hiss, leaving only darkness.
Nothing.
The realization pierced her deeper than any wound. The magic that once sang through her veins was gone. The hum of the cosmos—the chorus of her kind—had fallen silent. The girl who had once commanded galaxies could no longer light a spark.
Her knees buckled. For a long moment, she knelt among the ashes, breathing the scent of burned earth, listening to the faint crackle of cooling embers.
"I am empty," she whispered. The words felt foreign, as though they belonged to someone else.
A cold wind slithered through the trees, carrying the scent of pine and char. It bit into her skin, making her shiver. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, an ache she had never known in the realm above. Spirits did not need food or warmth—but this body did. Flesh came with pain, and pain came with fear.
Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled. The sound rose, mournful and low, echoing through the wounded forest. The rhythm of it stirred something ancient in her—a memory of the wild, of running under endless moons, tails streaming like ribbons of light. But now there were no tails, no glow, no power.
Only a girl, barefoot and afraid.
Liara pulled her torn cloak tighter and forced herself to move. Instinct guided her steps through the maze of broken trees. Ash rained softly from the branches like gray snow. Every sound—every crackle, every flutter—set her heart racing.
She passed the carcass of a deer, eyes glazed white, body scorched by the heat of her fall. The sight made her stomach twist. She looked away quickly, guilt pressing at her chest. "I didn't mean to…" she murmured, though no one could hear.
Time blurred. The forest grew denser, darker. Her feet bled from thorns, yet she kept walking. The pull of something unseen drew her forward—a whisper, faint as a breath, calling her name through the fog.
When at last she broke through a wall of vines, she found herself standing before a forgotten shrine. Moss blanketed the stones; the roof sagged under the weight of years. Vines wound around a fox statue at its center—its ears chipped, one paw missing, but its eyes carved with haunting precision.
Liara's breath caught. Her throat tightened.
It was a shrine to her kind.
The realization made her knees weaken. She stepped closer, brushing away the vines with shaking fingers. Beneath the dirt and moss, she could still see faint traces of offerings long ago—crumbled incense, shards of pottery, wilted flowers turned to dust.
Humans once worshiped us, she thought. Now they tell stories to frighten children.
She knelt before the statue, pressing her forehead to the cool stone. For the first time since her fall, tears came freely. "Forgive me, ancestors," she whispered. "Forgive me for what I've become."
The wind stilled. The forest seemed to listen.
She closed her eyes, letting the silence swallow her. Somewhere deep within, a flicker of warmth stirred—a tiny ember that refused to die. It was not power, not yet. But it was something.
Her stomach growled again, louder this time. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks. She had never known such weakness. Hunger, thirst, fatigue—these were mortal chains, heavy and humiliating. But she could not ignore them.
"I have to survive," she told the statue softly. "Even if the heavens have forgotten me."
The broken fox seemed to smile in the shadows, as if amused by her defiance.
Dawn crept through the canopy, thin and gray. Liara had dozed against the shrine's base, waking to the chirp of birds. The forest, though scarred, was alive again. Mist pooled in hollows like smoke, and the air smelled of wet earth.
She rose slowly, every muscle aching. Her robe was stiff with dried mud, her hair a tangled curtain. When she ran her fingers through it, strands of silver caught the light like spun moonlight. She frowned, pulling the hood of her cloak up to hide it.
The world looked unfamiliar in daylight. Colors were sharper, sounds clearer. A stream gurgled nearby, its voice gentle compared to the chaos of the night. She followed it, kneeling to drink. The water was cold and sweet. When she cupped it in her palms, she saw her reflection—pale face, golden eyes dimmed to a soft amber.
Human enough, perhaps.
She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Liara," she said aloud, testing the name again. It felt both hers and not hers—a remnant of something vast, reduced to a whisper.
The name of a fallen star.
She gazed upward. The sky was cloudless now, but when she searched for the constellations she once knew, they were wrong—shifted, rearranged, like a song played in reverse. How far had she fallen? How long had she been falling?
Her thoughts were interrupted by voices.
"…look, tracks!"
She froze.
Men's voices—rough, human, close. Her heart leapt into her throat.
"They're small," another said. "Bare feet. Whoever it is, they came this way."
Liara backed away from the stream, eyes darting for cover. She slipped behind a fallen log, crouching low as footsteps approached. Through a gap in the bark, she saw three figures pushing through the undergrowth—hunters, perhaps, or villagers armed with torches and crude spears.
One of them bent to examine the mud. "The prints are fresh."
"Could be a witch," another muttered. "Or worse. The elders said something fell from the sky last night."
The first man spat. "Then let's make sure it doesn't bring bad luck to our village."
Liara's hands clenched. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She could hear their boots squelching closer, smell the smoke of their torches. Instinct screamed run, but her body felt heavy.
When the nearest hunter turned toward her hiding place, she slipped silently into the stream, wading as fast as she dared. The icy water numbed her feet, muffling her steps. Behind her, one of the men shouted, "By the gods, I saw something move!"
She ducked beneath an overhanging branch, holding her breath as their voices faded into the distance.
Minutes—hours—she couldn't tell how long she drifted downstream, moving wherever the current took her. When she finally climbed out, her legs shook from exhaustion. The forest thinned here, giving way to rolling meadows and distant rooftops—a village.
Her breath caught. Smoke rose from chimneys, people moved like dots against the horizon. The sight stirred something between fear and longing.
Humans.
Would they see her as one of them? Or as a monster wearing a human face?
She wrapped her cloak tighter and took a tentative step forward.
By the time she reached the outskirts of the village, the sun had climbed high. The smell of bread drifted from a bakery, making her stomach twist painfully. She lingered near the alley's edge, watching. Children ran past, laughing. A woman sold herbs from a cart. A dog barked.
For a moment, she almost forgot her fear.
Then someone shouted. "Hey! You there!"
Liara flinched. A man was staring from a doorway, eyes narrowing. "Where'd you come from, girl? You look half-dead."
She opened her mouth but no words came.
"Are you mute?" he pressed. "Or are you one of them cursed folk from the forest?"
Murmurs spread. People turned to look. Their stares burned hotter than fire. Liara's throat tightened; panic clawed up her chest. She took a step back, shaking her head.
"I—I mean no harm," she whispered.
But the crowd didn't care for her words. Someone spat near her feet. "Look at her eyes. Gold as a demon's."
"Monster," another hissed.
The word cut deep. She turned and ran, heart pounding, vision blurring with tears. She didn't stop until the voices faded, until the fields gave way again to trees.
When she finally collapsed, it was before the same shrine as before—the broken fox watching her quietly through the mist.
Liara pressed a trembling hand against her chest. "Even here," she murmured. "Even among humans, I am cursed."
The statue gave no answer, only wore its eternal, silent smile.
She curled up at its base once more, pulling her cloak around her, and wept until exhaustion dragged her into sleep.
As night fell, the wind shifted. Far away, the boy in the distant manor looked up from his telescope and thought he saw something shimmer in the forest—a faint glimmer, like a fallen star refusing to die.