Evening settled over Stargate. Orange light stretched across the sky like fading embers, brushing the towers and gardens with a quiet warmth. Since the council fractured, Starmist had fallen into a simple routine. She spent her afternoons in the garden, reading while sipping sweet drinks that slowly melted into the calm.

  She held her transmitter, and a booming laugh echoed from the device.

  “You hear that, Starmist? My own faction are annoyed I’ve stayed here too long. But I’m busy in the Mainland, they complain I’m never been here.”

  Starmist laughed softly, covering her mouth.

  “It seems they love and hate you at the same time, Bjorn.”

  They spoke like old friends catching up after a long absence. No heavy topics, no politics. Just fragments of ordinary life.

  “So,” Bjorn asked, machinery humming behind his voice, “still reading that book about humanity?”

  Starmist glanced at the cover, then at the stack beside her.

  “Yes.”

  “You should read the new humor book Cognisource developed. You’ll be the first to read it.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “And what’s the title?”

  Bjorn hesitated.

  “Bear an the Bees.”

  He chuckled.

  “It’s not hard reading. Just something we made for fun.”

  “Send it over. I’ll read it.”

  “I’ll send copies to the others too,” Bjorn said, laughter rising again. “Maybe it’ll lighten their tragic lives.”

  Starmist’s soft laughter joined his.

  After a pause, she asked about the latest issue of Realm Odyssey. Two months had passed without any release.

  Bjorn sighed.

  “With Elysius overwhelmed in past few month, I couldn’t handle everything alone. The magazine’s a minor matter, and it needs a lot of material to satisfy the socialites. Not a priority right now.”

  He added,

  “Besides, the All Realm thinks the council is resting. No one’s asking about it.”

  Silence lingered briefly between them.

  “I tried contacting Amaterasu,” Bjorn said at last. “No response.”

  “Elysius told me she’s been hunting for a long time,” Starmist replied. “He only managed to meet Susanoo.”

  “And Cygnus?” Bjorn asked.

  “He hasn’t persuaded Lucretius yet,” Starmist said quietly.

  “But they met, didn’t they?”

  “Yes. Elysius told so. Cygnus believes Lucretius still needs time alone. He visits almost every week, though sometimes Lucretius refuses to speak about council matters.”

  Bjorn cursed under his breath.

  “Lucretius… do we need a new Abyss representative?”

  “You’re not thinking of Raidbones or Dryskull, are you?” Starmist asked.

  “Who else?” Bjorn replied. “Vanguard has always been the usual path to the council.”

  Starmist’s voice dropped to a near whisper.

  “Samartian?”

  Bjorn groaned.

  “I’d lose my mind if she sat at the same table with Elysius.”

  Starmist fell silent after Bjorn’s remark. The garden’s quiet returned, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and distant birds.

  A servant approached her, barely able to hide the excitement on his face.

  “My lady… your youngest niece has awakened. Starlax has recovered from her critical condition.”

  Starmist’s breath caught.

  Bjorn heard the news through the transmitter and laughed in relief.

  “That’s wonderful. I’ll leave you to it,” he said. “She must have many questions for her favorite aunt.”

  The transmission ended.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Starmist rose at once, leaving her books scattered across the garden table, and hurried into the estate. The halls were unusually quiet. Lord Star and Starslayer were away visiting another Extraterrestrial House. Lady Star was still traveling, though word had already been sent for her return.

  For now, this house held only Starmist, Starlax, and Starfall on underground prison.

  She pushed open the bedroom door and crossed the room in a few quick steps. Starlax lay propped against pillows, nibbling on sweets, her small frame still weak but alive with color again.

  Starmist embraced her carefully.

  The girl could not speak much yet. Her first questions were about her parents. Starmist answered gently, describing only the calm and ordinary moments of home, speaking more than necessary as if words themselves could protect the child from darker truths.

  “Uhm… Starfall,” Starlax murmured. “He hates me.”

  Starmist brushed the girl’s hair with slow, soothing strokes.

  “Don’t think about that now,” she said softly. “Your father already dealt with your brother. Focus on your recovery.”

  “Where is he now?” the girl asked.

  Starmist hesitated. The truth could not be spoken. Not yet.

  “When you’re healthier, I’ll take you to see him,” she said with a gentle smile.

  Starlax frowned.

  “No. I don’t want to see him again.”

  The words lingered, heavier than her small voice suggested.

  Starmist dismissed the nurses for a moment, allowing the room to settle into a quieter intimacy.

  “Aunt… did the council visit me after the accident?” Starlax asked.

  “Yes,” Starmist replied. “How did you know?”

  The girl pointed toward a small ornament on her bedside table. Names were engraved upon it—seven members of the council—each accompanied by short messages of encouragement.

  Starmist felt a faint embarrassment and toyed with a strand of her hair.

  “When I’m healthier,” Starlax said, “take me to Caelumreach. I want to thank them myself.”

  Starmist lowered her gaze. The child did not understand how fractured those names had become.

  “Are you okay?” the girl asked.

  Starmist lifted her head and smiled.

  “We’re all busy right now. I haven’t attended a meeting in months. But I’ll pass your gratitude.”

  “Unfortunate,” Starlax said, disappointment softening her voice. “They were all here for me.”

  Then her expression brightened.

  “Can you invite Leroy and Elysius. They still visit, right?”

  The request struck Starmist silent. She looked down at her hands, tracing the edge of her nails without answering.

  “Are you okay?” Starlax asked again.

  Starmist nodded faintly.

  “It’s alright,” the girl said with a small sigh. “Maybe next time. They are busy.”

  Starmist smoothed her niece’s hair once more.

  “You want to hear something good? Elysius will visit almost every week.”

  Starlax’s eyes lit up.

  “That’s unusual.”

  “Yes,” Starmist said, placing a finger to her lips, “but don’t ask him for anything. He’s on a secret mission.”

  The girl nodded, smiling.

  “And Leroy…” Starmist began.

  She stopped. Words failed her, and the silence that followed carried far more than any answer could.

  Starlax waited for an answer. Her eyes held quiet hope, but Starmist let the sentence fade once more.

  “Aunt… are you alright? Is Leroy sick too?” the girl asked, her voice fragile.

  Starmist shook her head and took both of Starlax’s hands. They were pale and weak, colder than they should have been.

  “If you want to see Leroy,” she said gently, “ask your father to invite him.”

  “Why father?” Starlax frowned. “he's your friends too.”

  Starmist reacted quickly, shaking her head again.

  “No. not like that. He’s just… busy with matters involving your father right now. Not me.”

  “But when they discuss, you’re usually there too,” the girl insisted.

  Starmist hesitated. There was no easy path through the truth. Starlax adored Leroy, treated him like an older brother—sometimes more than her own siblings.

  “It’s complicated,” Starmist said at last.

  “Oh… so you both fighting,” Starlax concluded, popping another sweet into her mouth.

  “No,” Starmist replied, lowering her gaze. “We didn’t fight. I just… don’t know what to say to him.”

  “If you don’t know,” Starlax murmured, “does that mean, stop being friends?”

  The innocence of the question pierced deeper than any accusation.

  Starmist met her niece’s tired eyes and drew a slow breath.

  “I’ll try to speak with him soon. But first, you need to get better.”

  Starlax nodded.

  Starmist stood and activated her transmitter, connecting it to Prince Morrigan, her niece’s closest friend. His voice answered almost immediately. As they began speaking, Starmist quietly left the room, giving them space.

  She did not return to the garden.

  Instead, she went upstairs to her chamber, lay on the bed, and turned on the radio. Music, news, and comedic chatter blurred together as she turned the dial absentmindedly.

  Then she paused.

  “Tonight,” a radio host announced, “we discuss Cognisource’s latest book, Bear and the Bees. Joining us is Professor Bjorn, the council representative from Cogworks. Welcome, Professor.”

  Starmist blinked in surprise.

  Why held a conference? He said he’d send the book to us first.

  “So, Professor,” the host continued, “what is this story about?”

  Bjorn’s voice emerged from the radio.

  “It’s humor,” he said. “A tale about a bear trying to steal honey from bees, but unwilling to destroy the hive or harm a single one.”

  He paused, then added,

  “The irony is.....despite his care and countless foolish attempts, the bear remains a villain in the bees’ eyes. Even when all he wants is a single drop of honey.”

  Laughter from the audience echoed through the radio, bright and effortless. Starmist remained silent, listening.

  “Professor Bjorn,” the host continued, “this is your first humor book. Where did the inspiration come from?”

  Bjorn’s voice carried a warm, reflective tone.

  “I have lived a very long life,” he said. “Through war and peace. Let’s say a few people inspired me to write this book.”

  “And would you care to mention those individuals?” the host asked. “Only if you wish, of course.”

  Bjorn chuckled.

  “Not just one or two. More than four, I would say.”

  “Fascinating,” the host replied. “When can readers expect the book to be released?”

  “Maybe in a few months,” Bjorn said with another laugh. “I’ll make an announcement in the newspapers, if all of you impatience.”

  The audience laughed again with him.

  Starmist lay still on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The radio continued playing, Bjorn’s voice weaving between jokes and reflections as the interview carried on.

  She listened without moving.

  Sometimes a faint smile appeared on her lips when his humor slipped through the broadcast. At other moments, her expression tightened, her thoughts wandering somewhere far beyond the room.

  The soft glow of evening filtered through the window, settling around her like a quiet companion while the radio murmured on, filling the silence she could not quite escape.