The sun dipped low behind the rolling fields of Audhild, casting long, amber shadows across the thatched roofs. Østberg, Elara, and Famed crept up the narrow ladder welded to the side of the old grain warehouse, their lanterns flickering in the gathering dusk.
Each rung felt cool and taut beneath their boots, faint vibrations echoing from the sacks of grain stored below. At the top, the flat wooden roof stretched wide, a makeshift terrace carved out of weathered planks. Swallows darted along the rafters, settling briefly before spiraling back into the sky.
Østberg set down his lantern carefully on a faded tarp used long ago to protect the wood beneath. He exhaled, the rich scent of wheat and old timber filling his lungs, mingling with the crisp air carrying the distant chorus of evening crickets.
"I've never thought of stargazing from up here," he said.
"It feels… different."
Elara smiled, tugging her robe tighter against the cooling breeze. The fabric whispered across her knees as she knelt to unpack a small canvas sack.
"It's quieter than the riverbank or the forest clearing," she replied, voice hushed to honor the encroaching twilight.
"Up here, it's just us and the sky."
Østberg pulled out a slender telescope borrowed from Uncle Arvid's possessions, its brass fittings catching the last rays of sunlightand propped it on a wooden crate.
Famed sat cross-legged on the planked floor, polishing the lens of his own makeshift spyglass, fashioned from scrap metal and polished glass. He murmured to himself as he adjusted its focus, the soft rasp of cloth against metal punctuating the hush.
"You two fuss over fancy telescopes," Famed teased, flicking a stray piece of straw from his hair, "but I prefer the direct view, no glass in between."
Famed tilted his head back and cupped his hands around his eyes, as if to frame the world through an invisible lens.
Behind them, the abandoned silo cast its long shadow, a silent sentinel standing watch. The wheat fields beyond swayed in gentle waves, their golden heads nodding as if in approval of the nightly vigil.
Østberg took a seat on a low beam and allowed himself a moment to simply listen: the distant lowing of cattle, the soft sigh of evening wind through the fields, the rhythmic creak of the silo door swinging on its hinges far below.
A soft groan of metal drifted up from the ladder, a reminder of the precarious perch they'd claimed. Elara shifted her weight to steady the wood beneath her, and Famed reached out to steady her boot with a light touch, ensuring the board would not shift beneath her.
Small gestures, but they spoke of the trust between them, built in moments far more perilous.
"Ready?" Elara asked, nodding toward the telescope.
Østberg returned her nod with a small smile, and Famed followed suit, handing her a dark cloth to drape over the back of the scope, cutting out stray light.
Østberg nodded. "That one," he said, pointing to a bright pinprick emerging above the horizon.
"That's Arcturus, I think. Uncle said it's the brightest star in this hemisphere."
Elara adjusted the telescope's focus diligently as the first star emerged one by one. The eyepiece framed a glowing golden sphere, haloed by faint sisters.
She passed the telescope to Østberg, who lowered one eye to peer through. The star seemed to pulse gently, as if breathing.
Elara leaned closer, voice soft. "Look slightly below and to the left. See those three stars in a neat line?"
Østberg leaned in, his breath fogging the glass for an instant. "Looks like… a spear?"
"It's called the Spear of the Watchers," Elara said, her tone reverent.
"According to legend, the Ancient Watchers placed their tools among the heavens, relics of their vigilance, markers for those who follow in their steps."
Famed scrunched his face, squinting at the sky without telescope aid. "Your Watchers again? I thought they were just old myths."
Elara brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear before answering.
"Perhaps. But myths often carry truths buried beneath layers of time. The two man, the heroes of the Wanderers, were said to ascend the Spear to confront the first Journey. Their courage lit that constellation so future generations could find hope in darkness."
Østberg set a hand on Elara's shoulder, "That's why I embarked on this journey," he said quietly.
"Not just for prophecy, but for the idea that our deeds... small or great... could echo among the stars."
A gentle hush fell, broken only by the faint howl of wind as it skirted the warehouse edge. Famed ran a hand through his hair, then shook his head with a grin.
"So, if we break fate's chain, maybe we'll earn a place up there too etched in starlight."
Above them, the sky deepened to indigo, and more constellations claimed their places. They named each in hushed tones.
The Twin Ravens circling a phantom sun, the Crescent Gate framed by shimmering stars, and, farther west, the faint arch of the Great Chain curving around the young moon.
Elara leaned over Østberg's shoulder, pointing toward the western sky. "There it's almost time."
The young moon hung low, a pale cradle in the firmament. As twilight surrendered to night, its edge began to blush with a tender rose.
A hush settled between them, as though the world paused to witness the phenomenon. Fields below faded into shadow, and the gentle calls of night creatures rose in symphony.
Østberg swallowed, captivated. "It's beautiful. But why does it turn red?"
Elara folded her arms around herself, "Some say it's the moon tasting the sun's last light. Others whisper the Red Moon is the Watchers warning when destiny's threads row heavy, the sky bleeds crimson."
Famed frowned, brow creased. "Sounds ominous."
She shrugged, gaze fixed on the slowly reddening orb. "Or hopeful. A reminder even the heavens change, and so can we."
A gentle breeze rustled the wheat fields below, and somewhere in the distance an owl hooted, punctuating the stillness. Østberg closed his eyes to drink the moment into his bones, the echo of the river's ripples, the ember glowing in his hand, the duet of flash and shadow above.
When he opened his eyes, the moon had deepened to a dusky rose. For a heartbeat, it glowed whole, a submerged ember afloat against the dark.
Then, almost imperceptibly, a slender shadow drifted across its face, a curved line, faint yet unmistakable. It looked for all the world like a broken chain sweeping over the lunar disc.
"Elara," Østberg whispered, his voice barely more than the murmur of wind. He pointed with trembling fingers.
Elara gasped and leaned in to peer through her telescope once more. "A chain… fading," she breathed, voice trembling with wonder.
Famed sat up, eyes wide as saucers, hand pressed to his chest. "Is that… real? Or clouds playing tricks?"
They watched in rapt silence as the shadow slid away, leaving the moon's blush unbroken once more. Above, the Great Chain constellation pulsed softly, as if acknowledging the fleeting spectacle below.
Østberg's heart thudded in his chest. "I've read about the Chain of Fate, it binds every soul to its path. If we truly break it, perhaps that's what we'll see, the chain dissolving, freeing the moon as it does us."
Elara tucked her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "Or it could be a sign that the Watchers' ritual still lingers in the sky, waiting for someone to complete it."
Famed nudged her gently. "Well, whatever it was, it felt… important." He stretched his legs, then kicked at a loose plank to steady himself.
"Think we should write it down? In case it returns?"
Østberg fumbled for his journal, its leather cover soft from use and travels. He flipped it open to a fresh page and sketched the moon's rosy curve, the shadowed chain, and the faint arch of stars overhead. He labeled each element: Red Moon, Shadowed Chain, Great Chain Constellation.
Elara knelt beside him and scribbled in flowing script.
"[The Red Moon's whisper: break the chain, shape your fate.]"
Famed, ever the playful scribe, drew a small comic strip at the corner, three panels showing himself jumping in surprise, pointing at the chain, then high-fiving his friends. A caption read:
"[When the moon ghosts a chain… we're in for more than lessons.]'
They shared a laugh that rang across the silent fields, carrying a lightness born of shared wonder. Stars reclaimed their brilliance as the moon's blush faded to pale silver.
One by one, familiar constellations guided their gaze back to the Surface, where distant lanterns glowed in the village below.
Østberg closed his journal with a soft snap. "Tomorrow, we return to Master Oscar. I want to learn how to listen to stars as we learned to read the river."
Elara nodded, tucking her poem into the pages. "And I want to uncover whether the Watchers used magia to map the heavens, perhaps their rituals can guide our path."
Famed rose, dusting off straw and splinters from his clothes. "I'll be here to record any more chain shadows or crimson moons. Someone's got to keep watch."
Famed offered Østberg a grin that crinkled his nose. "And maybe next time, I'll try the telescope after all."
Together, they descended the ladder, lantern light dancing over their shoulders like fireflies caught in a jar. Each step brought them closer to the world of hearth and home.
The creaking doors of the cottages, the muted glow of oil lamps in windows, the familiar scent of woodsmoke drifting on the night breeze.
Reaching solid ground, Østberg paused outside the first cottage. He looked up at the sky one last time, curiosity shining in his eyes. The stars had returned to their usual tapestry, but in their light he sensed newfound purpose and possibility.
He stepped forward, heart brimming with quiet determination. Whatever mysteries the night held, whispers on the water, embers in the palm, and chains across the moon, they would face them together.
And somewhere, far above their world, the constellation of the Watchers shimmered in welcome, its silent vigil undisturbed.