Starlit Legacy
When an ancient alien artifact surfaces on a festival world, a young dreamer finds himself at the heart of a galaxy-spanning quest. Hunted by secretive council agents and guided by unlikely allies, Kiran must unlock the secrets of the diaspora before a dormant war among the stars awakens once again. The fate of countless worlds hangs in the balance, and the key to peace—or destruction—might rest in the hands of those who dare to dream.
Council of Shadows
The council chamber was an amphitheater carved into the heart of the citadel, a place designed to magnify voices and shadows both. Midnight had sunk into Eloria by the time Kiran entered, chaperoned by two peacekeepers in crisp, silver uniforms whose faces betrayed nothing. His nerves screamed, but he forced himself to remember each footfall as though treading a bridge of glass. Tala waited outside, worry plain on her face, hugging her data tablet close like a shield.
Within, the chamber was lit not by the festival’s playful lanterns but by the sterile white of overhead projectors and the tight clusters of status displays gleaming along the curved walls. The Councillors were already present, gathered in a crescent that echoed the double moons freshly risen over the city. Maris Denara presided, her bearing a sheen of authority fitted as tightly as her obsidian robe.
She wore her dark hair in a crown of woven metal, the insignia of her lineage set with faintly radiant stones. Her gaze flickered between the assembled panel—elders of the Agrarian Quorum, technocrats of the Skybound Syndicate, fierce, tattooed Water-Clade delegates—and Kiran, who felt as though she were cataloguing his future transgressions before he could make them.
He was guided to a low platform in the center, each step echoing doom. The council’s table split before him, forming a split tongue, a place for the accused—though he was assured this was only an “inquiry.”
Maris amplified her voice with a subtle hand gesture. “Kiran Solis. Resident of the West Quarter. Witness to the power event at nineteen hundred local. Please provide your account.”
It took everything Kiran had to steady his voice. “I was at the amphitheater, councilmember, with a friend. When the blackout hit, the crowd scattered. I lost sight of her. I found shelter in the old quarters—catacomb area—until the power returned. That’s all.”
A ripple of skepticism passed through the Skybound Syndicate’s matriarch, Karol Inis. “You say nothing of the origin? Our monitors show the grid breach began near District Seven. Near where you were last logged.”
Kiran’s mind raced. Did they already know he’d broken curfew boundaries? He feigned a tremulous nod. “People were panicking. I—I just wanted to get clear of the crowds.” His palms sweated. In his pocket, the artifact pressed hot against his thigh, the texture shifting under his fingertips in a way he could not explain.
Water-Clade’s spearhead, Verris, looked from Kiran to Maris. “Behind every blackout, someone profits. If this was sabotage—”
Maris cut him off with a surgical lift of her hand. “We investigate all possibilities. Mr. Solis, did you witness anyone tampering with infrastructure?”
He shook his head. “No, councilmember.”
“Did you see any device, or encounter anything unusual?”
The question pierced him. For an instant, Kiran’s gaze locked with Maris’s. There was a clarity in her eyes—like cool fire meeting his panic. He willed his face to blankness. “No devices. Just darkness and old stone.”
Councilmember Inis' thin lips curved, unimpressed. “His record’s clean—but curiosity runs in his blood. The Solis line has always pushed too far, too fast.”
Maris leaned forward. “You’re sure you left the catacombs with nothing you didn’t enter with?”
Kiran’s chest hammered, his mind leaping to Tala’s face, to the artifact. “Nothing, councilmember.”
A tense silence stretched. Around them, the chamber’s projections drew schematics of Eloria’s power grids, fragile against the night’s uncertainty. At the edge, auxiliary screens flashed feeds from anxious neighborhoods: candles flickering, neighbors clustered in nervous knots. Maris’s gaze sharpened.
“We’ll need to sweep the entire catacomb district.” Her words were soft, but the threat underneath was diamond-hard. “For now, Mr. Solis, you’re dismissed. Do not leave city bounds.”
Kiran inclined his head in relief, retreating under the judgment-heavy stares of the assembled council. Maris watched, dark eyes assessing every motion.
Tala caught up with him in the marble-floored corridor, her concern as palpable as warmth. “What happened in there?” she whispered. “You looked—hunted.”
“They don’t believe the blackout was chance,” Kiran murmured, quickening his steps. “And Maris… she’s sharp. She suspects.”
They found solace in the heart of the old city, at Tala’s favorite overlook: a stack of broken columns by the river, away from surveillance. Tala pressed close, her hand lingering on his. The night wind, scented with copper and lemon, stirred the ends of her hair.
For a long moment, neither spoke. Then Kiran took out the artifact. It still shone faintly blue in his palm, lines and whorls shifting across its surface—a language written in geometry, too complex for any Elorian script.
“She asked what I found. I lied.” Kiran’s voice cracked. “But I had to.”
Tala traced the patterns with a nervous finger. “Maybe we should turn it in.”
Kiran shook his head. “You didn’t see what I saw. There’s something inside—visions, warnings—about a war, the diaspora… It’s like it wants to tell us something. To make sure we know.”
He closed his eyes. Instantly, that vertiginous starfield detonated behind his lids—the ancient ships’ forms, that mournful voice. But now, new shapes coalesced: letters or glyphs, burning on an unseen surface. Alien sigils spiraled and looped, dizzying in their intricacy. He heard snatches in his mind—not words, but pulses, as if the artifact tried to teach him by emotion as much as syntax.
--
Heed the warning. The war is not over...
Behind the meaning, Kiran sensed a logic—oceanic, old—pressing against his mind, urgent and patient in equal measure.
He snapped back to the present, breathless.
“It’s showing me messages. In another language. Tala…I think it’s trying to teach me.”
She squeezed his hand. “Then we have to figure it out. Before Maris or Inis or the others do.”
Across the city, bells tolled—an ancient signal calling the city to vigilance. Shadows moved along the far edge of the council’s citadel, and in a high window, Maris Denara closed her eyes in silent calculation.
“Tomorrow, we start decoding it,” Tala whispered, determination blooming in her tone. “Together. But Kiran—be careful. You’re on every watchlist now.”
Kiran nodded grimly, gazing into the artifact’s gentle light, even as the bruised night closed in.
He did not know what the visions truly meant, nor how close the old war lay to waking. But he knew one thing with cold certainty: The council’s gaze was only the first shadow settling over Eloria. And before dawn, he and Tala must pierce the mystery of the ancient inheritance—or risk letting all of Eloria sleepwalk into darkness a second time.