Kael had always feared the sky.

Not the stars — she loved those, used to trace constellations with her fingertips as a child. Not even the sun — though harsh and blinding, it was predictable. No, what she feared was the moon.

Or rather, what was left of it.

High above, it hung like a fractured omen, cracked down its center, its glowing veins throbbing with violet light. They called it the Wound. A celestial scar no healer could mend, a warning from the gods — or perhaps a consequence of defiance. No one remembered how it broke, only that when it did, the world changed forever.

Kael stood at the cliff’s edge on the floating isle of Varinor, her worn boots digging into the moss-covered stone. The wind danced around her, carrying the scent of sea salt and wild sage. Below, the ocean churned like a restless beast, waves catching the faint shimmer of moonlight.

In her hand, the old compass pulsed faintly.

It wasn’t really a compass — not anymore. The needle didn’t point north. It pointed where it wanted. Where she was needed.

She flipped it open. The golden edges were tarnished, but the center glowed faintly — warm, alive. The needle spun twice and then locked, not forward, not back, but out… into the sky. Into the open air where nothing stood — or should have.

Kael swallowed hard.

The mark on her palm — a ring of delicate runes encircling a dot, like an ancient eye — shimmered. It hadn’t done that in years. Not since she was a child. Not since the last time something fell from the sky.

She remembered that night vividly. The thunder without clouds. The burning violet trail across the stars. And the fire that consumed the western woods. She had found the compass in the ashes, untouched by flame, humming like a heartbeat. Her heartbeat.

Since then, the mark had remained — a reminder, a mystery. But lately, it had begun to ache. At first, just a pulse under the skin. Then a burn. Now, it itched like something was waking inside her.

And then, seven days ago, the moon had bled again.

A fragment — larger than any before — had torn from its surface and plummeted into the Western Sea. The waves had risen for three days. The sky had turned violet at sunset. And people had started dreaming… strange dreams.

Kael’s dreams were worse.

In them, she stood before a door made of starlight, surrounded by six broken stones. A voice, old and sorrowful, whispered to her in a language she didn’t know but understood.

“Wake the stonekeepers. Seal the fracture. Before the sky falls for good.”

She hadn’t told anyone. Not the village elders, not her guardian Mira, not even Aric — her only real friend. They’d think she was cursed.

Maybe she was.

She looked down now and saw it — the new island. Floating low above the ocean, surrounded by a faint ring of mist. It hadn’t been there yesterday. Or the day before. Or ever.

And it was calling her.

Not with sound, but with something deeper — a pressure behind her eyes, a gravity in her bones. The same pull that had drawn her to the edge of this cliff at dawn with nothing but the compass, a satchel, and a heart full of questions.

She took a slow breath.

Behind her, Varinor still slept. Chimneys cold. Lanterns dim. Goats nestled in pens. Ordinary lives untouched by prophecy, marks, or falling moons. Safe.

But Kael knew she couldn’t go back. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

She opened her satchel. A waterskin, two seedcakes, a coil of rope, her old dagger. Not much — but enough for one step forward.

She looked out over the cliff again.

The compass needle glowed brighter now — not demanding, but inviting.

She held it tight, whispered to the mark on her hand:

“You want me to jump… don’t you?”

A pulse of violet lightning split the sky. Thunder echoed like a drumbeat from the heavens.

Kael closed her eyes.

And leapt.