Chapter Ten

  Echoes of Childhood**

  The Wayward Starling drifted quietly through the last stretch of realspace before the next station layover, her engines humming a soft tune that felt almost contemplative. The ship seemed different now, as if Jorin’s cryptic log had awakened something in her hull… or maybe just in Kael.

  Kessa lounged sideways in her chair, watching her brother’s thoughtful expression with the ease of someone who had grown up reading him like a well?loved book.

  “You’re doing it again,” she said.

  Kael blinked. “Doing what?”

  “That face. The Thinking Face. Capital T. Happens when your brain decides to solve the entire galaxy in one sitting.”

  Kael sighed. “It’s not that.”

  “It’s exactly that.”

  He didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back and stared at the calm, settled stars beyond the viewport. Their usual lively spark felt muted somehow, focused inward.

  “Kes,” he said quietly, “do you remember when we were nine… that summer at Jorin’s repair dock on Vael Three?”

  Kessa’s eyes softened instantly. “When we turned his cargo sleds into a racetrack?”

  “Not that memory,” Kael said, though he smiled despite himself. “The other one.”

  “The night on the roof?”

  He nodded.

  The Roof at Vael Three

  It had been one of the rare nights when Uncle Jorin wasn’t repairing, tinkering, or swapping hauler stories over warm stew. The planet turned slowly below them, a wide wash of storm?gold clouds drifting lazily across its surface.

  Jorin had found the twins poking around in the storage room, pretending to be “junior engineers.” He’d scooped them up without explanation and carried them through a hatch neither of them had noticed before.

  It led to the roof.

  A metal platform under a wide, open sky full of stars.

  So many stars.

  “You two ever see the lanes like this?” Jorin had asked, dropping into a seat made of mismatched cushions. “Quiet. No engines. Just the old light.”

  Kael had climbed into his lap. Kessa had sprawled across both of them like a sleepy cat.

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  Jorin pointed at a small cluster of lights. “See that one? The dim little spark just off the trade spine?”

  Kessa had whispered, “It looks lonely.”

  Jorin had chuckled. “Nah. Just waiting for someone to find it.”

  Kael remembered asking, “Why doesn’t it shine as bright as the others?”

  Jorin had tapped his nose. “Not all stars shine the same. Some have big stories. Some have small ones. But the small ones…” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “They hold secrets. The kind worth traveling for.”

  Kessa remembered giggling, repeating “small star” like it was a magic word.

  Kael remembered Jorin’s warmth, the steady thump of his heartbeat, the scent of engine grease and baked cloves.

  They had fallen asleep under that sky.

  Back to the Present

  Kessa breathed out softly. “I can’t believe you remember that whole night.”

  Kael shrugged. “I think about it sometimes.”

  “You think he meant that star? Back then?”

  Kael shook his head. “I don’t know. But it’s the first time I remember him talking about small stars like they were… important.”

  Kessa rested her head on the back of her chair. “He always did talk in puzzles.”

  “Not puzzles,” Kael said. “Lessons. But he never explained them fully. He wanted us to grow into the meaning.”

  Kessa smiled faintly. “Sounds like him.”

  Kael hesitated, then admitted, “I miss him.”

  Kessa’s expression softened. “Me too. All the time.”

  They sat in a warm quiet, letting the memory drift between them like the soft glow of Port Serein’s moss hallways.

  Trajectory Forward

  The navigation display pinged with arrival coordinates. The ship angled automatically toward Greenlight Relay, the tiny soup?serving mid?lane station where they needed to drop off a small maintenance part.

  “Short stop,” Kessa said. “Soup break. Then…?”

  Kael looked at the hexagon chip on the console, at the lone beacon labeled Little Bright.

  “Then we keep hauling,” he said. “Work comes first.”

  Kessa waited.

  “And when the time is right… we follow his trail.”

  She nodded slowly. “Good. That feels right.”

  Kael’s voice dropped. “Kessa?”

  “Hmm?”

  “If we do find something at the beacon… whatever it is… we handle it together.”

  Her grin was small but steady. “Always.”

  Greenlight in the Distance

  The relay station appeared ahead — a simple metal ring with a docking spine, faint lights blinking like a sleepy guardian. Beyond it stretched open star-lanes, quiet and waiting.

  Kessa stretched her arms overhead. “Okay. Let’s get this stop done fast. Soup, a refill on honey sticks, maybe a chat with the grumpy cook—”

  “He’s not grumpy.”

  “He’s absolutely grumpy. Grumpy with good soup.”

  Kael smirked. “Fair.”

  “And after that,” Kessa said, practically bouncing in her seat, “we see where the small things lead.”

  Kael tilted his head. “Small things?”

  She winked. “Jorin said small stars hold secrets. And our whole journey is built of small moments. So I think we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

  Kael looked out at the relay station… then down at the chip… then at his sister.

  And in that moment, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, the universe felt like it was opening a door for them.

  One small star at a time.