Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
T he soft whispers of insects filled the crisp air as Julia and Roan stepped onto the deck outside Calstar’s hut. Julia pulled her coat closer and fastened the buttons. The long jacket was made from the fibrous hairs of the moth-like creatures. The colors were exquisite; the threads changing in the sunlight just as they did on the erebidae.
She paused in the open doorway, acutely aware of the powerful man beside her. The expansive opening framed a breathtaking view of the floating islands, their jagged perimeters softened by cascading waterfalls that sparkled in the setting sunlight. The scene could have been created by any of the popular fantasy artists from Earth, yet she didn’t think even those artists could capture the beauty before her.
The deck opened onto a stone patio, where Calstar had arranged a simple but inviting spread of food and tea. The air carried the succulent aroma of fresh roasted herbs and vegetables mixed with the faint tang of the herbal tea that Julia had come to love.
Calstar waved them over with a serene smile, his movements slow but steady as he poured tea into small, intricately carved cups. Julia followed Roan, her glances flicking between the older man and his grandson. She noted the subtle tension in Roan’s shoulders, though his expression remained polite and composed.
He was too stiff, too controlled.
The tension in his shoulders wasn’t just discomfort—it was defensive, that of a man bracing for a battle he wasn’t sure he wanted to fight. She recognized the restraint in him, the way he measured every word and every movement.
Not a soldier following orders. A man playing a dangerous balancing game.
It made her wonder just how much of his life was spent like this—hiding whatever war raged beneath his skin.
“Sit, sit,” Calstar urged, gesturing to the low, curved bench opposite him. Roan and Julia took their seats, the carved wooden chairs creaking slightly under their weight.
Roan nodded toward the small garden visible just beyond the patio, its neat rows of plants thriving under Plateau’s sunlight. “Your garden seems to be flourishing, Calstar,” he commented, his tone polite but distant. “What are you growing this season?”
Calstar’s face lit up, and for a moment, the lines of age softened. “Ah, you’ve noticed,” he said, his voice filled with quiet pride. He pointed toward a patch of tall, feathery plants with vivid orange stalks. “That’s kai-lar. It’s a root vegetable, excellent for stews. And over there—” He gestured toward a cluster of violet-leaved bushes dotted with bright silver berries. “That’s lumir. The berries are tart, but they make a fine jam—and not a half bad wine if you know how to prepare it. Just don’t tell your grandmother.”
Julia loved the way Calstar’s eyes twinkled when he shared his naughty side. Roan’s lips twitched with shared amusement. Julia imagined that there was very little that Roanna missed, especially when it came to her husband.
“I’ve also started cultivating maere blossoms; their nectar attracts the small flits that help pollinate the entire island.”
Roan nodded, his gaze following each gesture. “And the red vines near the edge?” he asked.
“Ah, those are siltha creepers,” Calstar said. “A medicinal plant. Their sap can be brewed into a tonic for fever.” His eyes twinkled as he added, “You always had an interest in the siltha when you were young. I thought of you when I planted them.”
Julia observed the exchange in silence, her analytical mind cataloging every detail. Roan’s questions were thoughtful, and his tone carried genuine interest, but there was something guarded in his demeanor. He listened carefully to Calstar’s answers, but his face revealed little of what he was truly thinking.
As they began eating, Julia savored the food’s unusual flavors—the tart sweetness of lumir jam, the earthy richness of kai-lar stew, and the fragrant tang of maere blossom tea. The setting felt peaceful, almost idyllic, but the air between Roan and Calstar was laced with unspoken tension.
The conversation turned, naturally and inevitably, to the Legion.
“Things are… difficult, these days for you, yes?” Calstar suggested carefully, his gaze flicking toward Roan. “The galaxy seems darker than it once was. The attack on Jeslean is most distressing.”
Roan’s expression hardened slightly, and he set his cup down with deliberate precision. “The Legion does what it must,” he said flatly, his eyes locking briefly on Julia before returning to his grandfather. “Let’s leave it at that.”
Julia felt the weight of his pointed look, the warning clear. She chose not to press, though curiosity burned in her chest. Instead, she turned to Calstar, her voice light. “Earlier, you said you would tell me more about the Cathedral of History. It sounds remarkable.”
Calstar’s face brightened, the tension easing slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “Ah, the Cathedral,” he said, his tone taking on a storyteller’s cadence. “Do you know its history? It holds the legacy of the Gallant Order—a gift from the Ancients themselves. One that our people have been proud to protect. Isn’t that right, Roan?”
“If you enjoy fairytales,” Roan dryly replied.
“Fairytales often have a thread of truth running through them. The Gallant Order?” Julia prompted, countering Roan’s cynicism as her interest was piqued.
Calstar nodded, his inner focus distant as he began his tale. “When the universe was first born, it was little more than chaos and fire,” he said, his voice low and resonant. “But within that chaos, there was light—a species unlike any other, formed from the first breath of creation itself. At first, they were nothing more than beings of pure energy with no fixed form. For billions of years, they drifted across the void, observing, learning, and waiting.”
Julia leaned forward, her heart hammering as she imagined the vast expanse of a newborn universe. Roan reached for the wine bottle and poured a small amount for the three of them in the empty glasses his grandfather had placed on the table earlier. Julia bowed her head in thanks when he held one out to her, before he placed one in front of his grandfather’s barely touched plate and took the last.
“Over time, these beings grew stronger… and more curious,” Calstar continued, his voice gaining rhythm. “They touched the fabric of reality, shaping galaxies, stirring stars into existence, and breathing life into planets and moons. They watched as some worlds thrived and others perished, each result teaching them something new. Their curiosity drove them to experiment, to create, and from their efforts, life began to flourish.”
Julia’s mind swirled with the enormity of it. “And the Ancients?” she asked softly.
“They were the next step,” Calstar said, his eyes gleaming. “The beings of light, seeking to deepen their understanding, combined their essence with a thriving species on a distant world. This union gave birth to the Ancients—a race of extraordinary intellect, focused on technology and science. The Ancients, in turn, created the Gallant Order to protect the advancements they shared with the universe, for not all who learned of their creations sought to use them wisely.”
Roan’s expression was unreadable, though a flicker of something passed through his eyes.
“And what happened to the Ancients?” Julia asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Calstar sighed, his unfocused eyes drifting toward the horizon. “It is said that the Ancients built gateways to other universes, hoping to share their knowledge and gain new wisdom across dimensions, vowing to return one day to this universe. But they never returned.”
A heavy silence fell over the patio, broken only by the rustle of the wind. Julia felt her pulse quicken, her thoughts spiraling. Gateways to other universes. The idea was staggering—and terrifying—that the story Calstar was telling wasn’t a fairytale but real. She knew because her father had discovered one—and she and the others aboard the Gliese had traveled through one such gateway.
Roan’s voice cut through the quiet, dry and edged with skepticism. “The Ancients built gateways and disappeared,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “It makes for a good story, doesn’t it?”
“They disappeared—until now,” Calstar replied.
“And why is that? Why wait all this time to suddenly return?” Roan asked with a cynical expression.
Calstar shrugged. “Perhaps they found what they were seeking. Or perhaps they would only return when we needed them the most.”
Julia’s heart hammered and her temper rose at Roan’s dismissive tone. But his eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper—an unease he couldn’t quite mask. Especially when Calstar gave her a brilliant smile, as if he knew something neither of them did.
“Good stories often have some truth in them,” she again reminded him in a calm voice.
Roan’s lips quirked, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And sometimes, they’re just stories,” he said.
Julia met his gaze, her mind swirling with possibilities. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than a story—and that somewhere in the mix of myth and history lay answers to questions she hadn’t yet dared to ask.
* * *
The evening settled over the island with a quiet stillness, the air cooling as the last traces of sunlight dipped below the horizon. Julia stood near the edge of the patio, her arms crossed loosely as she watched Roan walk toward his ship. His stride was purposeful but unhurried, his silhouette sharp against the faint glow of the ship’s navigation lights.
She let out a slow breath, her chest tightening with mixed emotions she couldn’t quite untangle. Roan was a puzzle—a man who revealed so little yet commanded so much attention. Her thoughts shifted to the day’s events: Calstar’s stories, the subtle tension in Roan’s manner, and the weight of the unspoken truths hanging between them.
If the Legion arrives before I find the others… The thought trailed off, too heavy to finish.
After shaking herself free of her reverie, Julia turned back to the patio and began clearing the dishes from their meal. The simple task offered a welcome distraction, her hands working in steady, familiar motions. She rinsed the plates in the small basin Calstar had set up, the gentle splashing of water a counterpoint to the faint, ethereal hum of bioluminescent insects fluttering in the garden.
Calstar appeared in the doorway, his expression gentle but weary. “I’ll say goodnight, my dear,” he said, his voice tinged with the quiet resignation of someone who had long made peace with his own limits. “A man my age needs his sleep.”
Julia smiled gently, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Goodnight, Calstar. Rest well.”
He nodded, lingering for a moment as if wanting to say more but choosing instead to retreat into the warmth of the hut. Julia watched him go, her chest aching with a protective tenderness she hadn’t expected. After turning off the lights, she stepped outside, drawn by the cool night air and the garden’s quiet tranquility.
The stars above Plateau were breathtaking. Unfiltered by atmosphere, ambient light, or pollution, they burned with an intensity that made her heart ache. It felt as though the sky was alive, a vast tapestry of light stretched so close she could reach up and touch it. She paused near the edge of the garden, tilting her head back. Slowly, she raised her hand, her fingers brushing against the emptiness, a childlike wonder blooming in her chest.
“What are you doing?”
The deep voice startled her, breaking the stillness. Julia turned sharply to see Roan emerging from the shadows, his features partially illuminated by the starlight. His expression was curious but guarded, as if uncertain whether to smile.
She lowered her hand, feeling both embarrassed and amused. “I was… wondering what it would be like to touch the stars,” she said, her voice soft. “Have you ever felt like they were so close you could almost reach up and touch them?”
Roan’s gaze followed hers to the sky, his sharp features softening in the glow of the celestial light. “Not since I was a boy,” he admitted. “You still think that way?”
Julia smiled faintly. “I try to. My father helped with that. He taught me to look up, even when things felt as though they were falling apart.”
Roan stepped closer, his presence grounding yet strangely magnetic. “Tell me,” he said, his voice low. “What did he teach you?”
Julia hesitated, then gestured to a stone bench nearby. “We lived in a place called Arizona. It’s beautiful—if you like dry, deserts and mountains. It can get very cold at night there. Similar to here, only drier… much, much drier,” she began as they sat down. “I was ten years old, tired and upset. My mother had canceled another visit—too busy, as always. My father, Harry, decided to take me out to study the stars. I thought it was a terrible idea. I was mad at the world and not liking it very much. The last thing I wanted was to be dragged out into the middle of nowhere again and sleep outside in the cold. Harry told me it was just what I needed, I just didn’t know it yet. Once we reached our campsite, I told him I wanted to build a huge fire to warm me.”
“Did he? Build you a fire to warm up?”
Roan studied her face, lifting a hand to brush strands of her hair back when they blocked his view. She gave him a rueful smile and tilted her head back to look up at the stars. She hadn’t missed the look in his eyes, as if he wondered if fathers really did things like that for their children.
She shook her head. “No. He told me the sky was filled with fires, billions of them, each warming a celestial body and giving it life.” She glanced at Roan, her voice softening as she continued. “He bundled me up, brought out two cots, and we lay there, staring at the sky. He told me stories—stories about the constellations and how they got their names.”
Roan’s gaze never wavered. “Will you tell me one of those stories?”
Julia smiled, a flicker of warmth stirring inside her. She rose, gesturing for him to follow. “Stand here,” she said, guiding him to the garden’s edge. “Hold your arm up like this.” She lifted her own arm to demonstrate, the faintest brush of her fingers against his as he mirrored her.
She pointed to three stars in a neat line, their light steady and bright against the darkness. “See those? They look like a nebula we have back home we call Orion’s Belt, they’re not, of course, but they look similar. My father told me the story of Orion as a cautionary tale for those not careful. Of course, most Greek mythology should come with a warning label,” she mused before dropping her voice into a more thematic tone, just the way her dad had when he had told her this story a lifetime ago.
“Long ago, there was a hunter named Orion. He was the handsomest of all men and he knew it. His father was the great god of the sea, Poseidon, and his mother was a beautiful human woman named Euryale, the daughter of King Minos of Crete. Orion had a love for the ladies. In fact, he fell in love with not one… but seven sisters. They were called Pleiades… the beautiful daughters of Atlas and Pleione. When he started pursuing them, the mighty king of the Gods, Zeus, scooped them up and placed them in the heavens out of reach from Orion yet tantalizingly visible. Now, Orion was not to be dissuaded from his pursuit and can still be seen today, chasing the sisters across the sky, but never quite able to catch them.”
“And your people believed this tale? Of a hunter who fell in love with seven women and a god who turned them into stars?” Roan asked with a skeptical expression, looking up at the three stars she had pointed out.
Julia’s eyes gleamed with the memory as she wove the tale. She laughed and shrugged. They walked back to the bench and sat down.
“A lot of people probably did when it was first told, not so many now,” she confessed. She looked up at the line of stars again. “I liked that story better than the second my father told me about Orion. Neither has a happy ending.”
Roan’s focus lingered on her, his own features unreadable. “And the real explanation?” he asked after a moment.
Julia’s lips quirked. “Three stars in a line, part of the Orion constellation. Likely formed billions of years ago from the same molecular cloud of gas and dust.”
He chuckled softly, a rare sound that tugged at something deep within her. “I think I would prefer the first version… if he had caught the seven women.”
Julia playfully elbowed him in the ribs. “Not all stories need happy endings.”
“Maybe not.” His voice was quiet now, thoughtful. “But some do.”
Something about the way he said it made her heart skip.
The stars burned brightly above them, impossibly vast, impossibly close. She turned, intending to say something—maybe to tease him, maybe just to break the silence—but then she saw the look in his eyes.
“I miss him… my father. He was a wonderful man and an amazing dad.”
“What happened to him?”
She heard the hesitant curiosity in his voice, as if he were steeling himself for her answer. A wistful smile curved her lips.
“He was killed in a helicopter accident. If he hadn’t been, he might have been the one sitting here, telling you this story instead of me. I was his replacement,” she confessed, turning to look up at the stars again as the memories of that horrible day rose in her mind.
“I would have liked to have met him, but I’m glad you are here,” he said.
The quiet declaration hung between them, rich with unspoken meaning. Julia’s pulse quickened as Roan gently touched her arm, turning her to face him. His expression was no longer guarded but searching. He leaned closer, closing the distance until their breaths mingled in the cool night air.
Her curiosity warred with her confusion, but she didn’t pull away. When he drew her into his arms, she let him. And when his lips met hers, warm and firm, she returned the kiss, a flicker of fire igniting in her chest.
For a moment, the stars above seemed close enough to touch.