The moon that waited for the stars

The realm of Aeloria, where the moons sang lullabies and the stars spoke predictions. Long ago, before time shaped the lands, two souls were bound by fate: Lysara, the Starborn Oracle, whose eyes shimmered with stardust, and Caelen, the Guardian of the Verdant Flame, whose heart beat in rhythm with the sacred forests.

An ancient curse that said, "When the Everstar blooms thrice under the twin moons, the awaited love shall awaken" caused them to be separated for lifetimes. The Everstar was unlike any other flower. It bloomed only once every five hundred years, under the light of both moons—Solun and Miriel—when they perfectly aligned.

The souls of Lysara and Caelen grew ever closer with each bloom, a hushed omen of destiny. In the current age, Lysara was reborn as a seer in the citadel of Mirindel. Similar to how other people walked through hallways, she had visions in which she saw fragments of a man she had never met—his voice in wind songs, his smile in lakes, and his sorrow in trees. An unidentified ache weighed on her heart. Caelen, meanwhile, lived as a quiet ranger in the wildwood, tending to the ancient groves. He had dreams he couldn’t explain—of silver-eyed women wrapped in constellations and whispered promises that stirred him awake with tears. He waited, even though he had never loved. He always waited.

Love is the hushed thread that runs through every precious moment. It’s not just the grand declarations or the dramatic gestures—it’s the soft glance across a crowded room, the way someone remembers the little things, the comfort of a presence that needs no words. Love can be wild and consuming, like a storm that changes the shape of the shore, or it can be steady and gentle, like the tide that never goes away. It speaks in silence, holds in stillness, and heals in the space between words. It persists when everything else fails, flourishes in odd places, and grows in cracks.

As the time of the third bloom neared, the signs grew stronger. Birds sang in forgotten tongues. The forest stirred with golden light. The sacred dance of the moons got under way. Guided by visions, Lysara left her tower and journeyed toward the Vale of Stars, where the Everstar would bloom. Caelen, drawn by a dream, walked the same path.

In a field of silver grass at dusk, as the Everstar's radiant petals were unfolding, they met. Neither spoke at first. They just stared at each other—two souls who had searched throughout their lives standing simultaneously. Lysara whispered, "You discovered me." “I always would,” Caelen replied.

The curse vanished like mist as they touched hands. Memories of every past life surged through them—every time they had just missed one another, every near-touch, every almost-hello. Now, at last, they were whole.

The Everstar pulsed once with light, then scattered into stars, lighting the sky above.

And in that sacred field, under twin moons and timeless love, Lysara and Caelen finally danced to the song of their destiny—no longer waiting, but living the love that had waited for them.

Waiting can make a hole in the heart where hope can reverberate like footsteps in an empty hallway. They waited, but not in a passive manner but rather with a burning patience. They continued to exist despite the fact that each day turned into yet another page of longing. Not because it was simple, but rather because their internal feelings were louder than their absence. They replayed memories like prayers, soft and desperate, hoping that time was a circle, and love would find its way back around.
Waiting sometimes felt like faith. On other days, it's like chaos. But always, it was love.