You sat cross-legged on the grass and watched the star fade, slowly, through the night: first the outer edges of its corona died, and then the death crept inward. Brilliance gone, you could trace its skeleton, its structure.
Hours passed. The star was a dying coal in your cupped palms. Your eyes followed it down, and as it faded you saw more, the fainter, subtler world that endures when you close your eyes: a vast net of souls and exchange, a pulsing net of life and story and bargain and consequence. You could parse it all, if only you had time.
When you woke up with the dawn, the vision had vanished, but the image remained. You'd learn the world's secret ways. But first you had to grow up. And growing up presented its own challenges. You were…