Among the barren sky, there came the stars.

Beacons of nights, whispers of day, the light when all else went dark.

For them, we seek our guidance. To them, we ask for our wishes. In them, we remember the days long past.

O, scars of the sky, lead us towards days anew as we keep the shadows of strife at bay. 

For your eternal light and long slumber we give our thanks,

May you shine forevermore.

As the final page was read to them, the child stared up, lost in the words’ afterglow. Then came the soft chuckle and hand brushing back their hair as their mother gazed down at them, never more marvelous than when she finished spinning the tales of the world. “Are you well, my child?” she asked with a smile.

The child nodded, burrowing deeper into the pillows of their bed. Still, the brightness behind their eyes was one not so easily missed. 

“Does something trouble you about the story?” She offered the book. The child shook their head. “There’s no good in not asking a question.”

The child pulled themself up from the mass of blankets and took the book. They flipped to the final page, the one that held the prayer that was so common to hear in the halls of her school or sung at altars of offerings. “What’s this one about?”

“The Hymn of Stars?”

“People really, really like this one. Why?”

“It offers our thanks to the stars in the sky, showing them that we still pay them our respects for all that came before they took their place in the sky. Have you not heard the full story yet?” The child shook their head again. “Well, I can’t let such an important one be such a mystery. Still got enough for one more story?”

The child nodded, though the wonder couldn’t hide the edge of sleep that the mother knew was close. The mother placed herself amongst the pillows, careful to arrange that one would cradle her child’s head when the relief of the curious rush would leave her slumbering. Book no longer required, she recited the story that sat at the heart of the people:

“Long ago, there was nothing. No void that could be filled, no land so sparse that it would be bleak, nor something so empty that there was anything to miss. Then came the Spark, the instance of light. A momentary flash that was the first instance of being. With it came the glow that filled what wasn’t there. And from that, from the meaning of existence, came the vast emptiness, the Dark. 

“They became locked in a dance. No matter how far the Spark could shine, the Dark would be right there, floating amongst them as if securing a sight out of reach even though there was nothing to see. The Spark ran, the Dark fled, so the Spark ran faster, and thus the Dark became sly to throw the Spark off. Push and pull, lunge and parry, curiosity and mystery. The two chased each other, the only two things to be, inseparable.

“Then, when the dance reached a fever pitch, the Spark’s found their form, a body to steady, feet to hold it, arms to reach. At her touch, there came the land. The farther she ran, the more that sprung up in her wake, and the more joy that bloomed within her. Seeing his dancing partner full of mirth, the Dark could not resist a challenge. He found a form of his own, holding out his hand for the Spark to take. However, upon her reaching out, he ducked away, goading her to catch him. So a dance became a game, one she gladly accepted.

“When she came close to snaring him, the Dark would bring a flood to break the earth and lose her footing. When she leapt at him, he blew a mighty wind to knock her away. And if she got especially close, the Dark would use her reflection to distract her, disappearing in a roaring flame and ash. The Dark was a slippery foe that the Spark couldn’t catch no matter how hard she ran nor how much effort she spurred. So she got creative, too. 

“She plucked the hair from her hair, took the soil at her feet, and the tears of joy she had shed in this pursuit. With them, she crafted the first creatures. Though at first shapeless, she took such pride in making them in all manner of forms, colors, and sizes. She needed them to aid her, so she gave them sight, touch, smell, taste, and hearing so that they could help her find the ever elusive, dancing Dark. 

“With the creatures’ aid and an everlasting desire to best her partner, the Spark finally found the Dark. When he was to slip away once more from her touch, he saw all that came to be from their game. In that instance, that one moment of seeing the lands full of animals amongst the sky and earth and water, he felt a joy that stopped his limbs, and a burst of emotions so intense that all beings could feel it and would remember the sensation and feel them as he had. He looked upon the Spark, and held open his arms.

“They embraced, the first contact either had known, and they burst. From their forms came the Stars, pieces of themselves that glowed ever so brightly as the Spark fell to slumber after their eternal chase came to a close, shards that the Dark held fondly even when all else should be in shade. 

“Even today, we may still see the two having continued their game as the sun pursues the moon, the Dark hiding behind the creatures as their shadows until the Spark tired and lays her to rest, taking the night to plan his next maneuvers for when she awakens.”

As the mother finished the tale, the child was drifting away, stubbornly fighting the pull of sleep to hear the story’s end. 

“But ma, why does the Hymn call the stars ‘Scars?’”

The mother stood, careful to not upset the comfort of the bedding, and knelt beside the child. She ran a hand through their hair as she had done on countless nights of nightmares and calm alike. “Stories have many faces. I believe in one of the kinder times, a good story with a happy end. Others aren’t so fond of that version.”

“What happens in the others?”

“In most, the Dark can’t stand the touch of the Spark and the two fight endlessly. In the end, they destroy one another, and the Stars are their remains.”

“I don’t like that one.”

“Neither do I,” the mother said, leaning down to kiss the child’s temple. “I prefer happy stories.”

“But when they exploded, did any Stars end up with us?”

“With us?”

Sleep was winning the child over, lulling her away from consciousness. A mumble of noise left her mouth that was too mumbled to be words.

The mother smiled, “Yes, some Stars have found their place among us.” But the child had lost the fight, lost in dreams of dancing lights and beckoning shades, asking for a dance in the sky.