Written by Muze / Artwork by Lee Ann Barlow

Gale’s eyes burned gold at Edith. “And who is this?” She waved the sponsorship papers her co-head had handed her. Gale hated that about Edith. She always acted like she knew best. Yes, Edith had taught Gale before, but Gale had her own research now. They were supposed to be equals.

Edith smiled and lifted a teacup to her lips. “Her name is Abelha.”

“And why did you bring me her papers?” Gale drummed her fingers on the table. “You know I’m too busy to take on any students.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to. Starting your own lab is hard.” Edith let the comment sit in Gale’s glare. The younger mage’s research had grown out of her thesis, and Edith had been her advisor. It had been a sore spot between them for years. “But just because we’re peers now doesn’t mean you won’t always be my lovely student. I’m worried about you spending all your time in that dusty house.” She absently waved towards the arboretum’s glass walls.

“I’m still free enough to meet you for tea,” Gale snapped.

“Of course,” Edith nodded. “But we can always use a little help. More stars don’t mean more time. What’s the harm in hiring an assistant to make sure you’re not burying yourself under all those papers you love writing?”

Gale flinched. Bringing up her stars was low. She had never asked to be born with a constellation, nor the attention it brought her. “I don’t need someone rummaging through my notes. Solving the mana deficit is complicated enough as is.” She glanced at the girl’s picture. She wasn’t much younger than Gale herself, and her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, a low maintenance cut that fit her clothes. A common cloth child, Gale decided, not one of the usual Library students. Still, it was odd that Edith had brought a physical copy instead of a mana projection. “So if this is your idea of sneaking her into private lessons or an internship, forget it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of anything like that,” Edith chuckled. “Though I imagine you two could learn a lot from each other.”

“And why’s that?” Gale bit into one of the scones Edith had ordered for the table.

“Why, she’s Starless.”

~ * ~

“I’m sorry for all this.” Gale sighed and closed the door behind Abelha. There was nothing to do but apologize. What had Edith been thinking, inviting a Starless to the Library?

“I’m used to it.” Abelha brushed past Gale’s apology.

“Oh…” Gale chuckled nervously. She didn’t know how to deal with the Starless. Ironic considering her research topic. For years, she had been studying the decline of magic, how the stars quietly winked out one by one. The Starless were an artifact of that void, or perhaps its harbinger.

She had been lucky; Gale had been born with a full constellation, a once-in-a-century prodigy. People expected great things of her, but what about someone who had always lived in the dark? Everyone was born with a star, their connection to the world’s mana, but the Starless had lost their place in the night. They were without magic, and maybe not even human.

“Do you have a spare room I can use?” Abelha hefted the bag on her shoulders.

“What? Yes.” Gale took a deep breath to reset herself. She had offered to host the Starless in exchange for housekeeping. Exactly as Edith planned, she thought with some bitterness, but there wasn’t much she could do. A Starless couldn’t hold a job in the Library; they all required a mana signature for records, and Gale didn’t want to insult the girl further by insinuating she was a charity case. “You can have any of them, except my room and the study.”

“Where are they?”

“The study’s on the second floor, the first room on the right. My room’s just across the hall from the kitchen.” Gale waved in the general direction.

“You go up a floor to work?” Abelha tossed the question back as she shuffled down the hall.

Gale shrugged. “It’s nice in the morning. I like an easy breakfast. And it gives me a better view of the night sky.”

“Noted,” Abelha nodded and disappeared into the room next to Gale’s.

“I didn’t mean-” Gale sighed and waited for the girl to pop out again.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Abelha emerged, rolling out her shoulders and heading across the hall towards the kitchen. “Coffee? Tea?”

“I’m fine.” Gale shook her head. “I don’t drink anything that’ll keep me up.”

“Really? Don’t stargazers like you pull a lot of all-nighters?”

Gale groaned. “Yes, but I don’t have to like that.”

Abelha didn’t respond. Instead, the familiar fwoosh of her wood stove lighting met Gale’s ears.

“Hey, since when did you–” Gale rushed to the kitchen. Even a dull ember was impossible for a Starless to conjure, let alone a full stove.

“Oh, did you change your mind?” Abelha closed the stove’s grate and started filling a kettle from the clean water basin. “I don’t know what you have in your kitchen, but I brought a few boxes with me.” She bustled past Gale. “Black or red?”

“How did you do that?” The astronomy head gawked at the unsteady flame in her stove.

Abelha slipped back around Gale and held up what looked like a pair of tongs, rocks attached to the ends. She clicked it, bashing the flint together in a shower of sparks. “It’s not like I’m helpless.”

~ * ~

Helpless. The word jolted Gale awake in the dead of night. Her heart hammered on her ribs, arteries pulsing against the thin flesh of her throat. She wanted to run, as fast and wild as her namesake, to escape this dark corner of the world.

She let out her breath, a long tremor from her stomach through her fingers.

That was just the word. They were helpless.

All of them, the entire Library and the people in the lowlands, what would they do without magic? Maybe like Abelha, they could light a fire or stitch a tear, but that was just a speck in the grand scheme of things.

No human could weave something as fine and fast as a tailor’s spell. No person or team could match the Library’s enchantments. Sparks wouldn’t power the caravans or the gliders running between the campuses. How would they guarantee the purity of their metals and water? The Library had a millennium of research. No tool, now or near, could replace that, and inevitably, everything supporting those spells, supporting their lives, would crumble without the stars’ light.

And she was at the head of it, a supposed genius, with no answers and no way past that final good night.

Gale threw off her covers and clawed open her curtains.

The moon’s light rolled off the streets of North Campus, and for a brief moment, Gale relaxed. Not tonight. There were still stars in the sky tonight, stars still strong enough to stand proud with the moon. She let out a shaky chuckle. What a childish way to see things.

Edith had always laughed at her. It was an open secret within the Library, that their sky was dimming, but what did the Library care? Their job was to research and teach magic, and for now, there was plenty of it for business as usual. There was no need to reveal anything at all. Why bother sabotaging their lives? The thought was ridiculous.

“Does it even matter?” Edith had asked. “You’ll never live to see the end of magic. None of us will. None of our children, nor their grandchildren, nor even their grandchildren. There are more interesting ways to spend your life than worrying about a problem even Vega and Sirius couldn’t fix.”

Maybe it was her pride. Gale couldn’t accept the long death they were all slipping into.

Or maybe it was the thought that everything she had known, everything that she held dear, would one day be nothing more than a myth.

~ * ~

“I can’t believe you go through these every day.” Abelha set down another stack of parchment on Gale’s desk and scooped up the pile of notes Gale had discarded.

“You can leave those,” Gale muttered.

“Really.” Abelha scanned the top page, unconvinced. The paper was packed with formulas and equations struck out and circled, all half-finished.

“Yes, really,” the astronomy head growled. It had been another restless night. What had Edith been thinking? Before Abelha had come, Gale’s days had been caught between research and scrambling to take care of herself. A single meal torched at sunset, teleporting to the market for the same bag of fruit every week, late nights flooding her wash basin to scrape the grime off her skin and late mornings devoured wringing the laundry midair and wicking the water into the grass. It had been good for Gale. It meant she could collapse into her bed and sleep through the darkness.

But with Abelha taking care of her chores, all Gale could do was throw herself at her research until she grew so sick of it she had to stop. And then, as frustrated as she might be, she was nowhere near as exhausted as she had been, and that meant her dreams found her. Dreams of speechless speeches and fumbled conferences, of the Library walls crumbling and the stars dying.

“Okay.” Abelha set the notes back down, and Gale had the distinct impression that she was being humored like a child. “I’m thinking of braised pork for dinner. Is that good with you?”

“Sure.” Gale didn’t raise her head to look at Abelha. She had invited the Starless into her life to apologize for Edith, but over the past month, she had grown to resent the girl so strongly, she was ashamed to admit it. None of it was Abelha’s fault, but Gale couldn’t stop herself, and those thoughts continued to haunt Gale as she sat down for dinner.

“Do you think you’re making any progress?” Abelha asked as she served herself and joined Gale at the table.

“No.”

“Really? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who writes as much as you.”

“It’s all scratch work.” Gale shoved a forkful of pork into her mouth. The meat melted on her tongue, offering itself in tender surrender. Gale’s shoulders loosened. “Sorry… I just– I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. You’ve been doing a great job and I just haven’t gotten anywhere.”

Gale took the moment to pull apart more of Abelha’s cooking. “But why do you care? I wouldn’t think a Starless would be so interested in saving magic.”

Abelha stiffened. “I just thought it would be nice if you had someone to talk to.”

Gale looked away. “Thanks, but there’s no need to force yourself.” Discussing her research with a Starless felt wrong, almost as if she was gloating. Abelha’s presence chafed at Gale, a constant reminder of the future if the astronomy head failed.

Or, Gale’s future.

For people like Abelha, that was already their life.

“How do you even know Edith?” It hadn’t occurred to Gale before, caught between embarrassment and aggravation, how odd it was that a Starless had acquired the attention of a department head.

Abelha frowned. “She was on my admissions committee.”

“You applied for the Library?”

“I did,” Abelha replied tersely. “Is that so unbelievable?”

Gale shook her head unconsciously. It was. Magic was everything in the Library. From research to labs to testing, everything hinged on magical aptitude. Just by dint of her constellation, Gale had been promoted as soon as she had graduated, and even a creative degree required skywriting and bleeding mana into paint and ink. Was it even art without that last crucial layer of expression?

“Well, I got rejected, but she wrote that she wanted to see what kind of Starless was willing to even apply, so I packed my bag and traveled here anyway.” Abelha laughed, closer to a bark. “She was so surprised when I knocked on her office door.”

“And that’s why she introduced you to me,” Gale sighed. “Couldn’t just send you back after seeing you brought everything.”

“Maybe. I did ask to meet you after she mentioned your research.”

Gale leaned back in her chair. So that was it. It seemed so childishly stubborn, but Gale couldn’t help but admire Abelha. Knowing that the girl had surprised Edith didn’t hurt either. “I guess she was too cheap to pay for your ride back too.”

“Why? I didn’t pay anything coming here.”

“What?” Gale straightened in her seat. “You hiked the entire way?” Trekking through the lowlands was asking to be mauled by the wildlife, at least for a Starless with no means of warding.

“Of course.” Abelha made it sound like it was the most natural thing in the world. “It’s not like I could afford a driver or a coach. My entire family is Starless.”

~ * ~

Gale’s eyes snapped open. At first, the familiar panic of waking to blackness flooded her chest, but then it settled into a sharper tension. Someone was in her study.

Gale groaned as softly as she could manage. And just when she was getting over her insomnia… Living with Abelha had grown comfortable, and while it hadn’t helped her research, maybe Edith was right and a little company was what she had needed. She still avoided her studies as much as she could in conversation, but talking about Abelha’s daily frustrations with the Library’s info motes and scale was a wonderful distraction.

But now someone had decided to sneak into her house and rifle through her notes. Well, two could play at that game. Gale swung her feet out from under her covers and whispered, “Hush.”

The familiar thrum of magic wrapped itself around her soles, muffling them as she hopped off of her bed. It had been a while since she had cast anything, but it made Gale feel a little better around the Starless. With Abelha doing the chores, it was hard to justify using magic for frivolous things.

The halls were a black mire as Gale crept out of her room and up the stairs, straining for any more signs of the invader. Clearly, it was a higher level mage, someone who had graduated from the Library at the top of their class. Who else could mask their mana so completely?

But who would even want her notes? It wasn’t like her topic was popular, or even a concern to the rest of the Library, and beyond the Library proper, she doubted anyone paid enough attention to the sky to realize how dark it had grown. As Edith said, they were forgetful creatures. What was one or two pinpricks in the night every few years, when every day was filled with conjured fire and musical bones? The sky was only a space to ride Library gliders on your way to the bazaar. The day had the sun, and the night had the neighborhood lanterns patrolling the streets. It wasn’t until the deep hours that you would ever think to look up at the moon and spare a passing thought for the stars. They were easy to misplace and, like Gale and her research, forgettable things.

Gale shook her head. None of that changed the fact that someone had snuck into her study. She laid a hand on the door and gave it a gentle shove. It swung open soundlessly, Gale’s mana trailing after it and muting the dull thunk it would have made hitting the wall.

Across the room, hunched over Gale’s desk by her candle, was Abelha.

Gale stalled. “Abelha?” she mouthed before dispelling her magic. “Abelha?”

The Starless froze.

“What are you doing?” Gale marched forward.

“Nothing.” Abelha’s shoulders slumped, eyes shifting to avoid Gale’s gaze.

“Could you not sleep or…?” Gale’s voice trailed away. “Are those my notes?” As soon as she had seen the Starless, all thoughts of thievery had flown from Gale’s head. After all, what would Abelha even do with them? But then why was Abelha bent over her desk in the depths of night?

“Yes,” Abelha sighed.

“Why?” They were useless to her. It wasn’t just a matter of magical ability; someone like Abelha, someone who had never studied at the Library, wouldn’t even be able to read them. Unless–

Edith had only told her Abelha was Starless, and the younger girl had always managed all of the housework and chores despite every appliance requiring mana to activate. Had she been set up by Edith? “Are you really Starless?”

“What?” Abelha’s voice hardened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just,” Gale stumbled, “what would you even do with my notes?”

The desk chair clattered to the ground. “Because I’m Starless?”

“Yes. I–”

“Do you think just because I’m Starless, I can’t _think?_ Surely, this darkborn hick couldn’t possibly match wits with Ms. Constellation, right? She must be a spy or a thief!”

Gale flushed. “Now wait a minute, I never said–”

“Well, maybe I’m mana blind and maybe I’ll never be able to calibrate your lenses or field-test your theories, but at least I can try! I bet that never crossed your mind, huh? Why would it when you’ve already got a whole suite of stars at your fingertips–”

The mage snapped. “That’s not my fault. I didn’t make you Starless!”

“But you still don’t think I can be anything more!” Abelha’s voice cracked.

The two of them glared at each other, panting.

“How long?” Gale finally growled. Somewhere in the back of her head, she registered that there was nothing to be angry about. Abelha couldn’t do anything with her notes, and even if she stole them, at most Gale was losing a day or two of calculations. But the way Abelha had rounded on her so quickly, had lashed out at her stars, burned. Gale didn’t need reminding that she had lived a charmed life. That was why she was throwing all her waking hours into this stupid problem to begin with. Was it too much to ask for a shred of appreciation? “How long have you been sneaking into my office?”

“Would you like me to count from the day I became your maid?” Abelha bit back. “After all, a Starless like me has no business coming into your study, even to deliver those papers you drench in ink everyday–”

“Get out,” Gale snarled, and what looked like a flicker of pale dread skittered across Abelha’s face before the younger girl buried it under stone. “Of my office,” she clarified. Throwing Abelha out of the house wouldn’t work either. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

~ * ~

But the two of them didn’t talk in the morning. Gale didn’t know how to broach the subject. How could she when everything about her research revolved around the very thing Abelha was intrinsically denied?

Certainly, there were exchanges. Abelha would ask if Gale wanted tea or coffee, daring the mage to stay up again and catch her studying. And Gale, unable to rein herself in, would accept the cup and let it grow cold on her desk. It was an empty performance, and Gale was ashamed of her failure to face the Starless.

Worse, her nightmares returned. Gale woke up from them like a coffin dredged from the depths, her skin gasping for air. “I’m losing it,” Gale mumbled across the table to Edith. She had given up on focusing in her own home and had thrown herself into her former mentor’s office instead.

“Really?” Edith asked, too busy scrawling corrections on a student’s essay to tease her pupil like usual. “Is Abelha not helping you?”

Gale didn’t reply. She was sure Abelha was trying to help her. At least, the Starless had been trying to help, until she had let her own insecurities take over. But whether Abelha had been trying to or not, a Starless would never make it in the Library.

So why did she feel like she would be disappointed if Abelha wasn’t going through her notes right now?

”You know,” Edith began, “it’s okay to give up.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take a break, a real break, Gale. Your topic will still be there when you return.”

Gale narrowed her eyes. “You know I can’t do that. This isn’t about me.”

“No, it’s exactly about you.” Edith set another assignment in her outbox. “Acting like the world rests on your shoulders, you’re being self-centered.”

Gale balked, but Edith didn’t bother humoring her pupil’s distaste with a reaction. “Magic isn’t the only thing that's limited. You’re wasting your life,” she intoned. “Call me selfish, but I’d much rather spend my time on something I like rather than something I so clearly detest.”

“Don’t lecture me,” Gale snapped. “I’m not your student.”

“You’re right, you’re not.” Edith nodded and set her pen down. “But as your colleague I have to ask, just what do you hope to achieve through your research? You act as if your questions and answers are the only real ones. You’re a genius, yes, but have you ever stopped to think that you’ve been chasing shadows instead of actual solutions?”

~ * ~

Screaming. Gale heard it before she registered it was her own voice. Then she realized her face was wet. She had been crying.

It was dark out, pale rays slumping against her curtains.

She needed to get up. Gale knew she needed to pull open her window, needed to see the starlight outside, but for some reason, her body wouldn’t move. She couldn’t even look away from the ceiling.

She was trapped.

Gale's skin burned, panic igniting in her chest. Shadows licked at the edge of her vision and suddenly, Gale could hear them whispering.

Failure.

Waste.

Ungrateful.

Traitor.

One by one, black tendrils latched onto her paralyzed limbs and clambered over her, familiar colleagues. Edith was right. Why was she torturing herself like this? It was out of her hands. The stars would fade and she had done nothing but waste her life.

She felt her chest crush under the night’s weight, and out of the corner of her eye, Gale saw it marching: a flood of darkness coming to drown her, its footfalls deafening thumps on solid wood. This was it, the only thing left for her if she kept throwing herself into a night with no stars. She was a woman obsessed, and who needed that? Better to skim off the dregs of light than sink with her mania.

Gale’s door burst open. “Are you alright!?” Abelha’s voice pierced through the void, but even then, Gale couldn’t respond.

“Hey, are you alright?” the younger girl repeated. “H-hey, what’s wrong?” Abelha rushed over to Gale’s bedside. “I heard you screaming like hell. What happened?” She clutched Gale’s hand, squeezing out the pins and needles until all the astronomy head could feel was the girl’s warmth.

“I… I…” Gale panted. No, she wasn’t fine.

“Come on,” Abelha whispered, propping Gale upright. “I’m here.”

Gale squeezed her eyes shut. “Nothing,” she breathed. “Absolutely nothing.” That’s right, nothing had happened. The world hadn’t ended. She wasn’t being attacked.

Her breath caught. Nothing had changed. She was still a failure of a researcher and Abelha was still Starless. “Just a bad dream.”

Abelha lapsed into silence, and Gale could tell her answer hadn’t convinced the other woman. “I’m fine,” she shuddered.

“Do you need anything?” Abelha didn’t miss a beat.

“I…” Gale’s tongue felt thick in her mouth. “Can you open the window curtains?” She didn’t want Abelha to leave her side, but maybe if there was a little more light in the room, her mind would stop tearing itself apart. “Please?” Her voice sounded small even to herself, but Gale couldn’t take it anymore. It was too much on her own.

Abelha nodded and drifted away from Gale’s bedside, fingers lingering as long as possible to reassure her before they broke contact and the Starless pulled open the shades.

“Better?” Moonlight streamed into the room, pooling around the younger woman as she looked back at Gale.

Gale took a deep breath. “Better.”

“Good.” Abelha returned to Gale’s side and interlaced her fingers with Gale’s. “Anything else?”

Gale shook her head. “No, I’m good. I promise.”

“Really?” Abelha cocked her head and stared into Gale.

“…Yeah,” Gale whispered. “You’ve done more than enough. Sorry for waking you…” She trailed away. All of this was pathetic, wasn’t it? After everything they had said in the study, Abelha was still here. “Sorry for everything.”

Abelha squeezed her hand, a silent acceptance, at least for the moment. “Want something to drink? Something hot might help.”

Gale shook her thoughts clear. “Sure.” Maybe coffee or tea would be good. She had no desire to fall back asleep.

Abelha nodded. “Okay, I’ll be just across the hall.” She unwove their hands. “You’ll be okay, right?”

“I’ll be fine.” Gale returned the nod and watched as Abelha slipped away to prepare whatever she had in mind. But as soon as the younger woman had disappeared, Gale strained her ears, listening for any sign that Abelha hadn’t left. Soon, the quiet spark of Abelha’s lighter and the familiar fwoom of her own stove greeted Gale. She breathed a sigh of relief and held the crackling of fire and the swish of Abelha’s clothes in her ears.

Glass clinked, the tap of a wooden spoon, and then the other woman reappeared in the bedroom doorway, two mugs clutched in her hands. Gale blinked as Abelha set one on her nightstand and guided the other into her grasp. “Try this.” She gently lifted Gale’s hands, mug and all, to the astronomer’s lips.

A rich sweetness greeted Gale, not at all like the mild bitterness she had been expecting. It coated her mouth, hugging her from the inside out. Abelha withdrew to her own mug as Gale lowered hers, staring into it. Even in the tinted moonlight, she could tell the mug was filled with a pale gold. “This isn’t tea,” she wondered, dumbstruck.

“You said you didn’t like tea,” Abelha replied. “Besides, you should still get some more sleep.”

“I’m not sure if I want to,” Gale mumbled.

“Don’t worry.” Abelha paused to drink. “I’ll be here.”

The mage fell silent, shame replaced with gratitude that Abelha hadn’t made her ask. “What is this then?” She lifted her mug up again and drank.

“Honey milk.” Abelha lowered her mug. “My dad always used to make me some when I had trouble sleeping, something lovely to chase away the bad dreams. Cute, right? When you’re young, you believe everything is magic. I didn’t know about us back then.” She shook her head. “But it’s still kind of wonderful, isn’t it?”

Gale gazed into her mug. “It is.”

~ * ~

“Are you free the next two weeks?” Abelha asked.

Gale blinked and lowered the notes she had been sharing with the Starless. It was a tiny gesture, but she had moved her research to the kitchen. After that night, Gale figured the least she could do was to listen to Abelha and teach her everything she wanted to know.

Actually listen, Gale reminded herself. Abelha had afforded her that basic courtesy, even when Gale had more than forfeited it. “I don’t have any readings or conferences if that’s what you’re asking. Why?”

Abelha avoided Gale’s gaze. “I want you to come to my hometown. We have a summer festival and I always help my dad prepare.”

“You can go. I’ll sign off on whatever contract you drew up with Edith. It’s not like I’ll be helpless without you.” Gale forced her hands to relax. Half of her panic was from dreading the upcoming nights and the other half was realizing how much she had come to depend on Abelha.

“I talked with Edith. She said she would cover for you while you’re gone.”

“What?”

“She agreed that it would be good for you to go.” Abelha paused. “And I want to show you why I applied in the first place.”

Gale blinked. It was true that she had dismissed Abelha’s application as mere delusion when the Starless had brought it up, but then, it wasn’t like she had managed to achieve much at the Library herself either. “I’m flattered that you’re thinking about me, but I’m not sure–”

“I’m not doing this for you. I’m asking for me,” Abelha leveled at the other woman. “Why do you think someone like me would want to enter the astronomy department of all things? All of this,” she gestured at the scrolls and texts Gale had been taking her through, “is great. But I want you to take me seriously. I don’t want to be your pupil. I want to be your peer.”

~ * ~

Gale balked at Abelha as she began to scale one of the clearing’s trees. “What are you doing?”

“Setting up camp?” Abelha tossed her head back to look at the other woman as she heaved herself up a limb.

“Up there?” Gale watched as the Starless unslung her bag and started tying ropes to her perch before scampering up to a nearby branch and linking the two limbs.

“Yeah? It's not like I want to get eaten.” Abelha continued to weave her ropes and yanked hard, securing the anchors of her platform. “I know you’re used to sleeping on the ground floor, but we’re in the lowlands now.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to sleep in the trees!” Gale waved her hand and her pack dropped to the ground, immediately unfurling into her tent and igniting the camping stove she had prepared. “You’ll freeze if you’re so far away from the fire.”

Abelha shrugged and climbed down to meet Gale. “I made it to the Library in one piece.”

“Small wonder.” Gale shook her head. “But you’re not alone this time. Why not try taking advantage of me?” She snapped her fingers, activating the beast ward stakes she had already driven into the ground.

The Starless watched as they pulsed, light rising off of them like steam to form a thin wall of gauze. “Fancy. You’ve never done anything like that before.”

Gale frowned. “It’s just common sense, isn’t it? You said it yourself. I don’t want to get eaten.”

Abelha shook her head. “It’s not like you to cast spells so freely.”

“I–”

“Or was that because you pitied me?”

The mage bit her lip. She had forgotten about limiting her casting for the Starless.

Abelha waved away the accusation. “I get it. But I already told you, I’m not helpless.”

“Aren’t you?” Gale clapped her hands over her mouth.

But Abelha only laughed. “Is that because you would be without magic?” She leapt back up to her rope platform and started rooting around in her bag. “Here.” She tossed a bundle of weeds to Gale. “Chuck it in the stove.”

Gale looked down at the damp mass in her hands, then shrugged and tossed it into the fire.

Immediately, the stove began to cough thick smoke, choking the clearing and Gale.

“That’s why you have to get off the ground.”

Gale gagged and sliced through the air, immediately dispersing the smoke with a cyclone.

​

“Was that really necessary?”

Abelha laughed. “Hey, it’s no problem for Ms. Constellation.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

Abelha slipped down to Gale’s side, cooking supplies in hand. “Not any more than you’ve been making fun of me.”

“I–” Gale sighed. “Point taken.”

“I’m being serious.” Abelha held out her pot for Gale to fill. “You can’t help having a constellation any more than I can help being Starless. Have a little pride in that. Do you think anyone could have blown away all that grass knot smoke so easily? It’s supposed to take hours to clear on an open plain.”

Gale let the matter settle as the last of the sunlight slipped beyond the horizon. “It’s not something to be proud of.”

“And what makes you say that?” Abelha glanced up from her soup boiling over Gale’s stove.

Gale nodded up at the sky, still dim even though her wind had long since dispelled any smoke. “Do you know why the Starless have no magic?”

Abelha shrugged. “I figured it was a curse or a bloodline thing. I told you my whole family’s darkborn.”

“You should have magic.” Gale’s brow creased. “Everyone should. Everyone did.”

“What do you mean?”

Gale kept her eyes on the stars, hoping they would rewind back to the scenes she had glimpsed through the Library’s records. “Imagine that there’s a sea of mana above our world, and the stars are small holes in the seafloor where the water drains. That’s where the stars’ light comes from, and everyone, even you and your entire family, have a hole.

“But that seafloor isn’t level. There are crags and dips and trenches. When Vega and Sirius built the Library, the depth of those holes didn’t matter, because the sea was connected and everyone could draw on it equally. But we never stopped, and then suddenly, the water level dipped below those shallow holes, and the ocean fragmented. That’s how the first Starless were born.” Gale turned towards Abelha. “People like me, people with brighter stars and constellations, have bigger holes; we drain the ocean faster. It’s because of people like me that people like you exist.”

Abelha sniffed. “And?”

“What do you mean, and? I’m the reason you can’t cast spells!” Gale stared at Abelha incredulously.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Abelha rolled her eyes. “Even if your theory is true, it’s not like you made me or anyone else specifically Starless. Don’t try and claim responsibility for my life. That’s just arrogance.”

The astronomy head gawked at the Starless woman before conceding and closing her mouth.

Abelha sighed. “But if that’s the way you see things, I guess that explains why you’re so stuck on research.” She turned away from Gale to look at the stars. “So tell me, what did the sky used to look like? The one with me and all the other Starless in it.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“C’mon.” Abelha grinned. “It’s your dream, isn’t it?”

Gale huffed. “It’s a stupid dream. Even with a constellation, I’ve never been able to do anything about the stars disappearing.”

“Try me,” Abelha folded her arms. “I applied to the Library, remember?”

Gale scanned Abelha’s face, stomach clenched and wondering what the Starless was expecting, but she found only simple curiosity. So, she took a deep breath and raised her hand. Out bubbled red and blue lights, pale yellows and thin purple streams.

“There used to be a river of stars across the horizon. Right there, it would curl in on itself like a snail’s shell. You can still trace its skeleton if you wanted to.” Gale conducted the lights around her, more rising off her skin and dancing out into the clearing. “There was a drake too. It breathed pink and orange swathes around the moon.” She kept her hands up, watching as mana drifted off of her arms, shining in the gaps even Vega’s tapestries had left blank.

Abelha nodded. “It’s beautiful.”

~ * ~

The sound of waves reached through the walls of Abelha’s family workshop. The building was two or three people wide if they laid down head-to-toe, though it was dominated by a rough table and smoke. It was what Gale had imagined Abelha’s actual house might be like, not an entirely separate building for the family profession. Every surface was covered in burn marks and toppled cylinders.

“I’m back, Dad!” Abelha called through the smoke.

A grunt was all the pair received before Abelha’s father swatted away the hazy curtain between them. “Oh, look who’s here, my darling girl!” He scooped Abelha in his arms, staining her face and clothes with soot. “And this must be that teacher you were going to see, yeah?” He turned to Gale. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Edith.”

Gale coughed. “Actually, my name is Gale.”

“Oh. Well, nice to meet you.”

Gale just nodded. Abelha’s dad wasn’t anything she had been expecting either. She had imagined someone barely skin and bones. After all, how did one even make a living without a trade, especially this far from the Library? But the man in front of her was thick with muscle and a generous belly.

“Chama.” Abelha’s dad rapped his chest.

“Likewise…?” Gale didn’t know whether to stick out her hand to shake or not.

Abelha saved Gale from floundering further. “How far behind are we this year?”

“Worse than last. You got the main event? I’m still filling in the opening scenes and Onda’s paid for a custom section near the end I have to mix.” Chama bustled back into the smoke. Dimly, Gale heard the clattering of more containers.

“Way ahead of you, Dad.” Abelha chuckled and slipped out a sheath of papers Gale had caught her writing in the whole trip. She had assumed that they were copies of her notes, but now it seemed they weren’t related at all.

“So that’s what they’re for,” Gale mused, craning her neck over Abelha’s shoulder.

“No peeking.” Abelha grinned and flipped her notes over. “You’ll have to wait with the rest of the village.”

“For what?”

Abelha’s grin widened. “Haven’t I already told you?”

~ * ~

Gale set her pen down and glanced out the window. Tonight. Ever since the two of them had arrived in town, Abelha had disappeared into the family workshop, prepping for whatever the town had hired them to make for the festival. Now it was time to see exactly why Abelha had been so adamant about bringing her to the coast.

Abelha had already carted off the entire contents of the workshop with her father earlier, leaving Gale to walk to the festival on her own. The roads were lined with stands, motes of light blinking and weaving through the air as if dancing on the fried aromas of the food stands. Kids crowded around stalls to purchase snacks and game tickets.

“There you are!”

Gale turned around to see Abelha walking through the crowd, somehow even more charcoal-streaked than she had been the past week. “It’s not exactly like you gave me a time or a place to meet.”

Abelha shrugged and grabbed Gale’s hand. “Details. It’s been crazy-making this week. You can forgive a few mistakes.”

Gale smirked. “Points off for carelessness.”

The Starless pouted, leading the astronomy head out of the venue. “This isn't a thesis defense.”

“Isn't it?” Gale countered. “I seem remember you claiming that you wanted to be my peer. Well then, peer review.”

“Fine. I’ll just have to make up points in my presentation. C’mon, Dad’s taking care of the show, so I get to take you to the best place to see it.”

“Front row seats then?” Gale stumbled as they suddenly hit an incline.

“Not a chance,” Abelha snorted. “Do you want to lose your hearing?”

“Why would I lose my-”

The first explosion cut her off. Abelha tugged on her arm and they clambered up the rest of the hill, until the ground leveled out and they collapsed against the wooden railing overlooking the sea.

“That’s why,” Abelha panted and gestured weakly to the fading sparks in the sky.

As they fell, the dusk’s blood orange melted into navy.

A second burst followed, light exploding out in yellow shards as if to replace the sun.

Then a green flurry of crackling.

White puffs like dandelion seeds.

One by one, the fireworks erupted across the horizon, painting the opening act of the show. Gale stood transfixed as the light flared and receded like the waves, the kinetic burst of each washing over her body, echoing deep in her chest.

“That’s what you’ve been working on?” Gale whispered. It was as if the Library meadows had been scrawled across the night air, ephemeral but more brilliant than any skywriting.

“That’s what Dad’s been working on,” Abelha corrected. Another light launched into the air before splitting into golden streamers, glittering like the boughs of a weeping willow. “There’s a small interlude before the scenes I designed.” She grinned. “Any guesses?”

Gale simply stared as the light in front of her faded into smoke.

“None?”

The two of them were left in the dark.

“Last chance,” Abelha teased.

Then a lone pink orb flew into the sky.

And then a pale blue one.

A purple ribbon.

Faint yellows and streams of orange.

Lights from every corner of the town erupted into being, their light curling in on each other.

Gale watched as more joined them, each taking a familiar place in the night sky, the gentle curve of a giant shell and the great span of wings aimed at where the moon was supposed to be until it suddenly burst into view alongside the dragon, a blinding circle of sparks blooming out of the smoke.

“Well? What do you think?” Abelha watched the other woman take in the night sky she had recreated. “It might not be magic, but I think it’s just as beautiful.” Abelha leaned back on the railing and gazed back at the night sky. "I’ve always thought that if I didn’t have a star, I’d make my own instead.”

The snail began to move across the horizon, sparks unfurling into a stream the color of sunset.

“Let me say it plainly; I can’t bring back any stars and I can’t keep them from disappearing. But the end of magic isn’t the end of the world. So please, stop acting like I’m a victim or a bad end, and let me prove to you that there are still ways through the dark.” Abelha held Gale’s eyes. “Because the future isn’t just doom and gloom, is it?”

The ancient night began to fade, smoke burying the past and choking out the stars once more, but Gale grinned. “No, I think it’s brilliant.”