Long, long ago—before the Earth knew its name, before human tongues shaped the word *forever*—there existed a planet called Philos. It shimmered in the void like a star made of dreams, suspended in darkness by nothing but hope and the slow, faithful burning of its ancient sun.
On Philos stood a kingdom of silver spires and crystalline gardens, ruled by a beloved king and queen whose crowns were forged from fallen starlight. And in the sixteenth year of their reign, they bore a son.
The people whispered about him.
They said he was blessed by the stars themselves—that cosmic hands had reached down during his birth and pressed divinity into his infant bones. They said he moved with the grace of light itself, that his rare silver hair caught the afternoon sun and turned it to something holy.
They were not entirely wrong.
But they had never asked Prince Xavier of Philos what it felt like to be made of starlight when all he wanted was to be made of something softer. Something that could bend without breaking.
At fifteen years old, Xavier had learned many things.
He had learned the seventy-three forms of courtly address. The proper way to hold a ceremonial blade during the Feast of the Dying Sun. How to stand perfectly still for hours while tailors pinned heavy robes to his frame, their needles coming dangerously close to skin that was never, ever allowed to bleed in public.
He had learned etiquette and governance and the five classical languages of the outer planets. He had learned which smiles were acceptable for which occasions, and how to make his face a mask so perfect that even his tutors could not read the screaming boredom behind his pale blue eyes.
He had learned swordplay—not because he loved it, but because Crown Princes did not have the luxury of preferences.
And he had learned, above all else, that he was never truly alone.
There were always eyes on him. Always.
The priests watching for signs of divine favor. The courtiers watching for weakness. His parents watching for proof that their son would be the king Philos needed him to be. The other students at the royal academy watching with a mixture of awe and fear, as if proximity to him might burn them.
So when sword training ended that afternoon—his muscles aching, his white training tunic dark with sweat—Xavier did what he always did.
He disappeared.
The great oak tree stood at the edge of the academy grounds, ancient and gnarled and utterly indifferent to royalty. Its roots carved through the hillside like arthritic fingers, and its branches reached toward the lavender sky with a patience Xavier envied.
Beneath it, the grass grew soft and wild. Untamed.
No one else came here. The other students preferred the courtyards, the polished stone benches where they could be seen and admired. But Xavier had discovered this place three months ago, and it had become his in the way that secret things belong to desperate people.
He collapsed onto the grass now, letting his head fall back against the oak's trunk. Sweat cooled on his skin. The distant sounds of the academy—laughter, sparring, the clang of practice blades—faded into something almost peaceful.
For the first time all day, he let himself *breathe*.
The sun was beginning its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose. Philos had two moons—one silver, one gold—and they were already visible, faint ghosts waiting for darkness to give them substance.
Xavier closed his eyes.
*Just ten minutes*, he told himself. *Ten minutes where no one needs anything from me.*
That was when he heard it.
A rustle. Soft, but distinct. The whisper of leaves disturbed by something that was definitely not the wind.
Xavier's eyes snapped open.
For a moment, he saw nothing. Just branches and sky and the lazy drift of pollen catching the light. Then—
There.
High up in the oak tree, perched on a branch that looked far too thin to hold her weight, was a girl.
She was small—no, *tiny*—with auburn hair pulled into a messy braid and cheeks flushed from exertion. She wore the standard training uniform of the academy, but hers was rumpled and covered in bark dust. Her legs dangled on either side of the branch like she was riding some kind of arboreal horse.
And she was staring directly at him.
Xavier's first instinct was to leave. To stand up, brush off his clothes, and find somewhere else to exist where people weren't *watching* him.
But something stopped him.
Maybe it was the way she tilted her head, curious rather than reverent. Maybe it was the complete lack of fear in her expression—no widening eyes, no sudden stiffening of posture, none of the things people did when they remembered they were in the presence of the Crown Prince.
She just... looked at him.
Like he was a person.
Xavier turned his gaze back to the sunset, deliberately ignoring her. If he didn't engage, maybe she'd get bored and leave.
The rustling grew louder.
He glanced up again—*don't look, idiot*—and immediately regretted it.
The girl was moving. Climbing down with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times, her small hands finding holds in the bark with practiced ease.
"Hi!" she called down, cheerful and completely unaware that people did not simply *shout greetings* at crown princes.
Xavier said nothing.
She kept climbing.
"I saw you sitting here and thought—oh, oops—"
It happened so fast.
One moment she was reaching for a lower branch. The next, her foot slipped on a patch of moss, her fingers lost their grip, and she was falling.
Xavier's heart stopped.
His body moved before his mind could catch up—pure instinct, pure panic—and suddenly he was on his feet, arms outstretched, every muscle in his exhausted body screaming as he *launched* himself forward.
He caught her.
Barely.
The impact sent them both stumbling backward. Xavier's heel caught on a root and they went down hard, crashing into the grass in a tangle of limbs and momentum. The girl landed half on top of him, her elbow jamming into his ribs, her braid whipping across his face.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Xavier's lungs were burning. His heart hammered against his ribs like it was trying to escape. Adrenaline flooded his system, sharp and electric, and all he could think was: *She could have died. She could have broken her neck. She could have—*
The girl giggled.
*Giggled.*
She pushed herself up onto her hands, still half-draped across him, and grinned down at his face like this was the most fun she'd had all week.
"That was close!" she said brightly.
Xavier stared at her.
She had warm brown eyes. Freckles across her nose. A smudge of dirt on her left cheek. And when she smiled, her cheeks puffed out slightly, giving her the distinct appearance of a cheerful hamster.
"Are you—" Xavier's voice came out strangled. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Are you *insane*?"
"Probably a little," she admitted, still grinning.
She rolled off him—finally—and hopped to her feet with disturbing ease, extending a hand to help him up. Xavier ignored it and stood on his own, immediately stepping back to put a proper distance between them.
His training tunic was covered in grass stains. His hair had come loose from its tie. He could feel dirt on his cheek.
He looked, in short, like a disaster.
The girl didn't seem to notice. Or care. She was too busy brushing leaves out of her hair, humming softly to herself.
"You might've broken your neck," Xavier said, his voice sharper than he intended.
She glanced up at him, completely unbothered. "Nah. I'm tougher than I look."
"That," Xavier said slowly, "is not how falling works."
She laughed—a bright, unguarded sound that seemed entirely too loud for the quiet sanctum he'd built here.
"I'm Nana," she announced, sticking out her hand again like they hadn't just nearly died together. "I just started at the academy last week. You're the prince, right?"
Xavier's jaw tightened.
*There it is*, he thought. *Now she'll start bowing and apologizing and calling me 'Your Highness' and—*
"I saw you during training earlier," Nana continued, apparently taking his silence as confirmation. "You're really good with a sword! Way better than me. I keep dropping mine." She demonstrated by miming a sword slipping from her grip. "Just—*whoops*—right out of my hands. The instructor says I need to work on my grip strength."
Xavier blinked.
She was... still talking. Chattering, really. Words spilling out of her like she'd been storing them up and finally found someone willing to listen.
And she was looking at him like—
Like he was just another student at the academy.
Not a prince. Not a future king. Just... Xavier.
Something in his chest twisted.
"I should go," he said abruptly.
But he didn't move.
Nana plopped down onto the grass, crossing her legs and tilting her face up toward the sunset. "The view's really pretty from here," she said softly. "I can see why you picked this spot."
Xavier stood frozen, caught between the urge to flee and the strange, unfamiliar pull of her casual presence.
She patted the grass beside her.
"Come on. Sunset's better when you're not standing."
It was a terrible idea. He should leave. Return to his quarters, wash the dirt from his face, pretend this bizarre encounter had never happened.
Instead, Xavier sat down.
They didn't speak at first.
Nana seemed content to watch the sky, her expression soft and distant, like she was memorizing the exact shades of amber and rose bleeding across the horizon. Xavier sat stiffly beside her, hyperaware of the twelve inches of grass separating them, the way her shoulder almost—*almost*—brushed his when she shifted.
"Do you think the moons ever get jealous?" Nana asked suddenly.
Xavier glanced at her. "What?"
She pointed up at the twin moons, barely visible against the still-bright sky. "The silver one and the gold one. They're always chasing the sun, right? But they can never catch it. Do you think they're jealous that the sun gets all the attention?"
It was such a strange question that Xavier couldn't help but answer. "The moons don't have feelings."
"How do you know?" Nana challenged. "Maybe they do. Maybe the silver one is sad because it can never shine as bright as the gold one. Maybe that's why it hides during the day."
"That's not—" Xavier stopped himself. "That's not how astronomy works."
Nana shrugged. "Maybe not. But it's more interesting than just saying they're big rocks in the sky, don't you think?"
Xavier had no response to that.
They fell quiet again. The sun sank lower. Shadows stretched across the hillside like dark fingers reaching for something they'd never touch.
"Why do you come here?" Nana asked, softer this time. "You always sit alone."
*Because being alone is easier than being watched*, Xavier thought. *Because here I can stop pretending to be perfect for ten whole minutes.*
Out loud, he said: "It's quiet."
Nana nodded like that made perfect sense. "I get that. Sometimes people are really loud, even when they're not talking."
Xavier turned to look at her fully for the first time. She was still watching the sunset, her profile gilded by dying light, and there was something in her expression—some gentle understanding—that made his chest ache.
"Why did you climb the tree?" he asked.
She grinned. "Because it was there. And because I like being up high. Makes me feel like I can see the whole world."
"You could've fallen and died."
"But I didn't." She finally looked at him, her warm eyes catching the last rays of sun. "You caught me."
The way she said it—so simple, so certain—made Xavier's breath catch.
*You caught me.*
Like it had been inevitable. Like there had never been any other possibility.
"Next time," Xavier said quietly, "I might not be here."
"Then I'll be more careful," Nana said. Then she paused, tilting her head. "But there's gonna be a next time, right?"
"A next time?"
"For watching the sunset." She gestured at the space between them, the oak tree, the hills rolling away into purple shadow. "Same time tomorrow?"
Xavier's brow furrowed. "Tomorrow?"
"Yeah." Nana beamed at him. "Let's watch the sunset together again. Unless you don't want to," she added quickly. "I can find another spot if you want this one to yourself. I just thought—you seem like you could use some company. The non-annoying kind."
Xavier stared at her.
No one had ever asked to spend time with him before. Not like this. Not as a casual invitation, offered without ceremony or expectation. People *requested* his presence for state functions and formal dinners. They *sought audiences* with him. They scheduled appointments through his attendants.
They did not simply... ask.
"I—" Xavier's voice felt strange in his throat. "I suppose that would be... acceptable."
Nana's smile could have lit the darkening sky.
"Great! Same time, same tree. It's a deal." She stuck out her pinky finger. "Pinky promise?"
Xavier looked at the offered finger like it might bite him. "What?"
"Pinky promise. It's how you make promises stick. You lock pinkies and then you *have* to keep it. It's basically a sacred oath."
"That's not—" Xavier sighed. "That's not how sacred oaths work."
"It is now." Nana wiggled her pinky insistently.
Against every instinct, every lesson in dignity and composure, Xavier hooked his pinky with hers.
Her hand was warm. Small.Soft against his much larger one.
"There," Nana declared, shaking their joined fingers once before releasing him. "Now you *have* to come back tomorrow. You're oath-bound."
"I don't think—"
But Nana was already standing, brushing grass from her training uniform with brisk efficiency. "I should get back before the dinner bell. The instructors get cranky if you're late." She glanced down at him, still sitting in the grass, and her expression softened. "Thanks for catching me."
Xavier nodded, unsure what else to do.
She started to walk away, then paused and turned back. "Oh! I didn't ask your name."
Something about that—the fact that she'd sat with him, promised to meet him again, and hadn't even asked who he was—made Xavier's throat tight.
"Xavier," he said quietly.
"Xavier." She tested the name, smiled. "I like it. See you tomorrow, Xavier!"
And then she was gone, bouncing down the hillside with the kind of fearless energy that made Xavier's pulse spike with secondhand anxiety. She was going to trip. She was going to fall. She was going to—
She made it to the bottom safely and disappeared around the corner of the academy building without incident.
Xavier exhaled slowly.
Then, despite everything—the dirt on his clothes, the ache in his muscles, the bizarre nature of the entire encounter—he felt his lips curve upward.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
The smallest girl he'd ever met had climbed a tree, fallen out of it, made him promise to watch sunsets with her, and somehow made his day immeasurably brighter than it had been ten minutes ago.
Xavier stayed beneath the oak tree until the last light bled from the sky and the twin moons claimed their territory in the darkness.
And for the first time in longer than he could remember, he found himself looking forward to tomorrow.
.
.
.
.
.
⭐⭐⭐
To be continued.