🪶 Part 6: The One Who Breathed for the Dying Stars

A story of quiet strength, and the cost of carrying light for others

In a time when the sky was forgetting how to shine,

There lived one who breathed for the stars. ✨🌌

Not because they were chosen —
But because they couldn’t bear to watch anything beautiful fade alone.

Each dusk, as the first flickers dimmed above, this being climbed the hill of ashes.
They inhaled deeply — and with each exhale, gave a little of their own fire to the cosmos. 🔥🌠

Just enough to keep one more star alive.
Then another.
Then another.

No one saw them.
No one knew.

They walked among others by day —
Soft, present, unremarkable —
But by night, they were a lighthouse for the sky. 🕯️🌃

The stars knew.
And they wept quietly in patterns only the one on the hill could read. 🌌💧

Over time, the breathing grew harder.
Their chest felt hollowed.
Their dreams grew dim.

Yet still they returned.

Until one night, they could not climb.

They lay at the base of the hill,
Lungs trembling,
Arms empty.

“I don’t know how to shine if I am always giving.”

A comet — the last of its kind — broke its path. ☄️

It fell not in flame, but in soft light.

It did not speak,
But its glow curled around the soul below and said without words:

“You were never meant to carry it all.”

The being cried —
Not from failure,
But from the sudden relief of being seen. 👁️🫂

The next night, they returned to the hill.

But this time, they brought others. 🌟

Each carried a breath.
Each lit one star.

Together, they learned a new spell:

“I can keep the light alive — if I am not the only one holding it.”

And the stars — now burning again — pulsed back in rhythm:

“You are not alone.” ✨💫

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🌌 For the ones who give light, may you always be met with breath and brightness in return.