I was seven when the stars first answered me. Not metaphor. Not poetic exaggeration. Actual stars, distant points of light that had existed for millennia, responding to a child who asked them to come closer. We were camping. Annual family trip to the mountains where city lights couldn't drown out the sky. Mom and Dad had already fallen asleep in the tent, but I'd stayed outside, staring up at constellations Dad had taught me to identify. Orion. Cassiopeia. Ursa Major. Names that made distant fire feel familiar, like old friends who'd been waiting for me to notice them.
I wanted to paint them. Capture their light on canvas the way Mom had taught me. But even at seven, I understood that some things couldn't be captured. That beauty existed to be witnessed, not preserved. Still. I wanted to try.
AST: Come closer. Just for a minute. Let me see you properly.
I said it to the sky. To the stars. To points of light that were already dead by the time their glow reached Earth. Not expecting response. Just talking the way kids talk to things that can't answer back. And they came.
Not all of them. Just one. A single point of light that detached from its constellation and drifted down like it had been waiting for permission. It circled my head slowly, deliberately, trailing illumination that felt warm without burning.
I reached up. Touched it with fingers that should have passed through something insubstantial. But the light was solid. Real. Present in ways that contradicted everything I understood about physics. And it sank into my palm. Not painful. Not intrusive. Just gentle absorption, starlight becoming part of me, finding home in flesh that apparently knew how to hold things that shouldn't be holdable.
My hand glowed. Soft white light emanating from skin, from bones, from whatever part of me had just accepted cosmic fire as permanent resident. Mom found me like that. Standing in darkness holding light that came from inside rather than outside. She didn't panic. Didn't scream. Just knelt beside me and whispered:
MOM: Well. That's different.
AST: The star came when I asked.
MOM: Seems like it did.
AST: Is that normal?
MOM: Normal? No. Special? Definitely.
She took my glowing hand in hers, studied the way light pulsed with my heartbeat.
MOM: Some people are born with gifts. Abilities that manifest when they're ready. Looks like yours decided seven was ready enough.
AST: What do I do with it?
MOM: Whatever feels right. The stars gave you this. They probably have their reasons.
I made the light brighter. Dimmed it. Shaped it into forms that resembled the constellations I'd been studying. The starlight responded like it understood intent, like it wanted to help me create whatever I imagined. And I felt complete. Like something I'd been missing without knowing it was missing had finally arrived. Like the universe had been waiting for me to ask before giving me exactly what I needed. Dad emerged from the tent, saw his daughter glowing, and just nodded.
DAD: Well. That explains why you've always loved the sky.
We stayed up the rest of the night. Me learning to control starlight. Them teaching me that gifts come with responsibility, with choice, with the understanding that power means deciding how to use it. I fell asleep as dawn approached, starlight fading to manageable glow, dreaming about all the ways I could use this gift to create beauty, to help people, to make the world a little brighter. It was perfect. It was-
The memory fractures. Not fading. Breaking. Like reality itself is rejecting what I'm remembering, replacing it with something that contradicts everything I know. The camping trip dissolves. My parents flicker. The wholesome moment of discovery corrupts into something else, something that's trying to show me truth I've been living wrong. I try to hold onto it. Try to keep the memory pure. But Maeve's sacrifice is still working, still showing me timelines, still collapsing possibilities into definitive understanding. And the original timeline bleeds through.
I was seven and I had no powers. The camping trip happened. The stars were beautiful. I asked them to come closer and they stayed exactly where they were because I was just a girl with no abilities, no connection to cosmic forces, no gift waiting to manifest. Mom and Dad found me staring at the sky, talking to stars that couldn't hear me. They smiled. Told me it was nice to have imagination. Tucked me into the tent when cold got too sharp. I grew up normal. Artistic. Observant. Good at capturing beauty on canvas because that's all I could do - document, preserve, create representations of things I couldn't actually touch.
I met Johann when we were fifteen. Tournament registration. He was there with the mountain training group, looking uncomfortable in formal settings, carrying himself like someone who'd learned to fight but not to socialize. And he glowed. Not metaphor. Actual light emanating from his skin when he got nervous, when emotions ran high, when he forgot to maintain control. Starlight. Pure white illumination that he tried to hide because it made him stand out, made him different, made him target for attention he didn't want. I noticed. Of course I noticed. Artists see things others miss.
AST: You're beautiful.
JHN: What?
AST: The light. It's beautiful. You shouldn't hide it.
He looked at me like I'd said something impossible. Like no one had ever called his power beautiful instead of strange.
JHN: You can see it?
AST: Everyone can see it. You're literally glowing.
JHN: Most people pretend not to notice. Or they stare like I'm circus act.
AST: I'm an artist. I notice beautiful things. And your light is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Something shifted in his expression. From defensive to curious. From hidden to seen.
JHN: I've never met anyone who understood.
AST: Understood what?
JHN: That it's not just power. It's... I don't know how to explain it.
AST: Then show me. Let me paint it. Let me capture what you can't put into words.
He did. We spent months together. Him manifesting starlight while I tried to recreate it on canvas. Him talking about how the power felt, how it responded to emotion, how it wanted to create rather than destroy. Me falling in love with someone who carried stars inside him. And him falling in love with the girl who saw beauty instead of strangeness. When we were seventeen, he asked me to meet him in the clearing where we'd first practiced together.
JHN: I've been thinking about something. About us. About what I can do versus what you can do.
AST: What do you mean?
JHN: You create beauty. Capture moments. Preserve things that deserve preservation. But you do it with paint, with canvas, with tools that can't quite match what you're trying to express.
AST: That's just how art works.
JHN: What if it didn't have to be?
He held out his hand. Starlight gathering in his palm, concentrating into form that looked almost solid.
JHN: There's a technique. Rare. Dangerous. Called Soul Bond. It lets someone transfer their abilities to another person. Permanently. As gift. As proof of trust.
My heart stopped.
AST: Johann, you can't-
JHN: I want to. I've been carrying this power my whole life, using it to fight, to defend, to win tournaments through force. But you'd use it to create. To illuminate. To make things beautiful instead of just effective.
AST: That's your gift. Your ability. I can't take that from you.
JHN: You're not taking it. I'm giving it. Because I love you. Because I want you to have something that matters. Because watching you create beauty with limited tools when you could create it with starlight itself... that feels wrong.
AST: What if you need it? What if something happens and you're defenseless?
JHN: Then I'll learn to be strong without powers. Alexander does it. Plenty of fighters do it. And I'll still have my copying ability. That's enough.
AST: Johann-
JHN: Please. Let me give you this. Let me prove that I love you more than I love being powerful.
He performed the Soul Bond. Ancient technique that required precision, trust, complete willingness from both parties. His starlight flowing from his body into mine, transferring through connection that went deeper than flesh. It hurt. Not pain exactly. Just overwhelming sensation of something fundamental changing, of accepting gift that rewrote what I was capable of. When it finished, I glowed. And he didn't.
JHN: Perfect. It worked.
AST: I can feel it. The stars. They're... they're listening to me now.
JHN: Good. Use them well. Create things I never could. Make the world brighter.
I kissed him. Starlight pulsing with emotion that had nowhere else to go. Grateful. Terrified. Completely in love with someone who'd just given me his power because he valued my dreams more than his abilities.
AST: I'll make you proud.
JHN: You already do.
We had two weeks. Two weeks of me learning to wield starlight. Two weeks of Johann training without his primary power, relying on copying and physical skill. Two weeks of believing we had time to figure out what came next. Then Vazroth arrived. The attack was sudden. Overwhelming. Ancient consciousness wearing copied flesh, hunting for something, for someone, for Johann specifically though we didn't understand why.
He tore through everyone. Mom. Dad. The tournament fighters. The masters. Everyone except Johann, who Vazroth wanted alive, wanted intact, wanted to consume rather than destroy. I tried to fight. Tried to use the starlight Johann had given me. But I'd only had it for two weeks. Barely understood how to make it offensive instead of just beautiful.
Vazroth killed me with thorns that erupted through my chest. Quick. Efficient. Removing obstacle between him and his target. The last thing I saw was Johann screaming. Trying to reach me. Failing because Vazroth's presence held him paralyzed. And then nothing. Darkness. Death. The end of the timeline where I received starlight as gift of love and used it for two weeks before dying with it still untested.
The memory settles. Truth replacing comfort. Understanding replacing innocence.
I never manifested starlight naturally. It was always Johann's. Given to me through Soul Bond because he loved me enough to sacrifice his power for my dreams. And in the original timeline, that gift got me killed.
But Maeve's sacrifice showed me more than just what happened. It showed me the connection. The reason Johann's starlight in my hands feels different now. Stronger. More precise. More willing to respond when I need it most. Because it remembers its original wielder. Because somewhere in the cosmic memory of what stars are, they know they belong to Johann. And when I fight to save him, when I push starlight to its limits trying to reach him, I'm not just wielding borrowed power.
I'm wielding his gift. His sacrifice. His love made manifest as weapon that can cut through ancient evil because love is stronger than malice when you stop holding back. The alternate timeline taught me something the current one couldn't.
That the starlight was never mine to begin with. That I've been fighting with Johann's power this entire time. That the impossibly thin precision I'm capable of isn't because I'm special. It's because I'm wielding the gift someone gave me in a timeline that no longer exists, and that gift remembers who it belongs to.
I open my eyes.
The battlefield resolves around me. Five fighters processing Maeve's sacrifice. Vazroth watching with ancient patience. Johann trapped inside stolen flesh. And me, understanding finally what I'm actually carrying. I close my eyes. Let out a breath that carries three weeks of grief, two timelines of memory, seventeen years of loving someone who gave me everything.
When I open them again, my pupils are gone. Just pure white light. Starlight that's stopped pretending to be mine and started acknowledging its true source. Not Astra's power. Johann's gift. And I'm done holding back what he trusted me to wield.