When the Stars Bled Ink

Once, in a time when the sky whispered ancient secrets and the world was young, there existed a city beneath the vast, eternal expanse of stars. This city, called Veldoria, was ruled not by kings or queens, but by the great storytellers who lived in the heart of it. These were no ordinary scribes—no, they were chosen by the stars themselves.

Each night, as the moon dipped below the horizon, the stars would descend, weaving down from the heavens, their golden light shimmering like ink in the midnight air. The storytellers would stand in the city square, their hands raised toward the heavens, and the stars would bleed ink into their palms. They would then weave this celestial ink into stories, poems, and songs—tales that could shape destinies, heal broken hearts, or ignite revolutions.

But there was one storyteller unlike any other—Arden, a young woman with eyes that sparkled like the constellation of Cassiopeia. She had always been curious, always wondering why the stars bled ink, and why it was that only certain people could hear their whispers. The other storytellers, wise and ancient, often spoke of how...