Minato had chased the star gods for six years, and he had never seen one of their creatures alive. He knew this because he had drawn every rumor into a notebook. Round shapes. Pink skin. Eyes like wet ink. But drawings were guesses, and guesses had led him nowhere. Tonight he sat alone in the old library where he lived, surrounded by shelves that smelled of dust and cold stone. The tall windows showed a sky full of stars he could not reach. He pressed his palm flat on the page. The star gods were said to send small pink creatures down from the sky. Find one, the stories claimed, and it would lead you home to its makers. Minato had read every book in this place. None told him where such a creature might appear. Without one to study, he had no thread to pull. He tucked his black cloth tighter around his shoulders. The white star stitched on it caught the candlelight. A sound broke the quiet. Something soft dropped against the far window. Minato stood. His height made the low candle flame flicker as he crossed the room. He pushed the tall book-ladder aside and reached the glass. On the outer sill, pressed against the pane, sat a creature. It was round and pink, no bigger than a melon. Its eyes were two dark wells. It stared back at him and blinked. His breath caught. He had drawn this exact shape a hundred times, and every time he had been wrong. The real thing was rounder, brighter, breathing. His hands shook as he unlatched the window. The creature did not run. It hopped onto the sill inside and looked up at him. Minato knelt to its level. Slowly, he opened his notebook and held it out. "You're real," he whispered. "You came from them." He studied it the way his years of waiting had taught him. He noted the way it turned toward the window, toward one bright star low on the horizon. Again and again its gaze returned there. Not the moon. Not the brightest star. A single pale one near the treeline. Minato marked its position on a fresh page. Then the creature puffed itself full of air. It floated up, light as a bubble, and drifted back through the open window. Minato lunged, but his fingers closed on empty night. The creature rose over the dark trees, straight toward the star it had watched. He stood at the sill, cold air on his face. He had finally seen one. He had lost it in the same minute. But he had its heading, and he had the star it steered by. Minato grabbed his cloak and pushed his notebook into his belt. The library door groaned as he opened it. For six years he had waited for a place to start. Now the trees swallowed the creature's glow, and he ran after it.

Minato ran until the trees closed over him. The creature's pink glow shrank ahead, then blinked out. Night pressed in. He stopped, breath ragged, and turned in a slow circle. Roots caught his boots. Branches hid the sky. The pale star he had marked was gone behind the leaves. Without it, he had no heading. Without the creature's glow, he had no trail. He stood still and listened, but the forest gave him nothing. He pulled the notebook from his belt and knelt. His hands shook too hard to read his own marks. Six years of work, and one dark forest would erase it. He forced himself to think. The creature had steered by the star. So must he. He needed a clear line to the sky. Minato searched for high ground. He found a rise where an old chair sat half-buried in moss, its tall back carved with stars and moons. Someone had studied the heavens here long ago. He climbed onto the seat and stood on the armrests. Above the treetops, the pale star burned low. He fixed its place, jumped down, and set off toward it. Branches tore at his cloak. He kept the star ahead through every gap in the leaves. After a while the ground leveled. His boot struck something hard. He crouched and dug through wet leaves. His fingers found metal. He lifted out a small box, cold and heavy. Silver stars and moons covered its lid, worn soft by age. A stiff latch held it shut. He pried the latch open. Inside lay folded charts, brittle and yellow. He unfolded one under the weak light. It showed the forest as lines and marks, and among them a single star drawn larger than the rest. The same pale star. A path was inked from that star down to a place marked with a small round shape. He knew that shape. He had drawn it a hundred times. Minato's heart pounded. Someone before him had mapped the creature's road. He was not the first to hunt the star gods. He matched the chart's star to the one above the trees. The drawn path bent east, away from the way he had been running. He had almost gone wrong. Then a sound came from the dark ahead. Soft. A wet, breathing sort of sound. Minato froze. He raised his eyes from the chart. Two dark wells shone back at him, low to the ground. Rosy cheeks. Crimson feet planted in the leaves. The creature stood there, watching him again, as it had at the window. It had not fled at all. It had waited. Minato clutched the box and the chart. He had found his trail, and the trail had found him. The creature turned toward the pale star, then looked back, as if it meant for him to follow. Minato stood, legs stiff, and stepped after it into the dark.

Minato followed the small creature east, matching the chart in his hand. But the creature moved faster now. Its crimson feet skimmed the leaves. Its pink glow slid between the trunks. Minato broke into a run. Roots grabbed his boots. Branches whipped his face. The glow shrank ahead, and his lungs burned. He knew this feeling. He had lost the creature this way once already. If he fell behind now, the dark would swallow it again. "Wait," he called. His voice cracked. The creature did not slow. Its glow blinked past a thick stand of trees and grew dim. Minato pushed harder, but his legs had nothing left. Six years of searching, and he would lose it because he could not keep up. He needed speed he did not have on foot. His boot caught on something hard and low. He fell, palms scraping dirt. He rolled over and saw metal in the faint light. A dirt bike lay half-sunk in the moss. Rust ate its frame. Faint stars and a thin moon still showed on the tank, painted long ago. Its tires were flat but whole. Minato stared at it. Someone had ridden these woods before him. The same hunters who drew the charts. He hauled the bike upright. The pink glow was almost gone now, a smear far ahead. He threw his leg over the seat and found the kick-start. He stamped it. Nothing. He stamped again. The engine coughed, spat, and died. His hands shook. He tried once more and twisted the throttle. The engine caught and roared. The sound tore through the quiet forest. Minato aimed the bike at the fading glow and let go of the brake. The bike lurched forward. Flat tires bit the soft ground. Branches slapped his shoulders. He ducked low and held the star ahead through the gaps in the leaves. The gap between him and the creature closed. Its glow grew from a smear to a bright pink shape. He was catching it. For the first time, he could match its pace. The creature turned its head and saw him. It did not flee. It floated to a stop in a small clearing and waited. Minato skidded the bike sideways and killed the engine. Silence rushed back. His chest heaved. He climbed off and stepped toward the round creature. It watched him with wide dark eyes, the same eyes from the window. Then it lifted one stubby arm. In the air before it hung a sphere, wrapped in glowing lines like a map of the sky. Purple and gold light spun across its surface. The creature had not been leading him to the pale star at all. It had been leading him here, to this. Minato reached out. The sphere was warm. Whatever the star gods were, the answer sat in his hands now. And he had no idea how to open it.

Minato turned the sphere over in his hands. The glowing lines shifted under his fingers, but nothing gave. He pushed at the seams. He pressed the star at its center. It stayed shut, warm and whole. Six years of searching, and the answer sat locked in his palm. He let out a slow breath and slid the sphere into his pocket. He would carry it until he learned its secret. The small pink creature watched him from the clearing. Its dark eyes held him for a moment. Then it turned and floated toward the trees. Minato left the dirt bike where it lay and followed on foot. The creature moved slower now, as if it wanted him near. He kept close. His boots crunched over dead leaves. The forest thinned, and the ground sloped down. The creature stopped and looked up. Minato followed its gaze. High above the trees, a light drifted. It was pale and cold, brighter than any star. It grew larger as it fell. Not a star. Something moving toward them. Minato saw its shape now. A body like a hard yellow star, five sharp points, tipped with dark spikes. It cut through the air and dove straight at him. He froze. His legs would not move. The thing screamed as it came. The pink creature moved first. It shot in front of Minato and puffed itself round and wide. The star-shaped enemy struck it head-on. The blow knocked the creature back into Minato's chest, but it held. It bounced the attacker off and sent it tumbling into a tree trunk. Bark split. The enemy shook itself and hissed. Minato hit the dirt with the creature on top of him. It rolled off and planted its crimson feet between him and the enemy. It spread its stubby arms wide. It did not run. It stood its ground for him, a stranger it had led into the woods. The star-thing charged again. This time the creature opened its mouth. Air rushed inward with a roar. Leaves tore from the ground. The enemy fought the pull, then slid, then vanished down the creature's throat. Silence returned. The creature swallowed and stood still. Minato pushed himself up. His hands shook. The thing had come for him, and the creature had put itself between them without pause. He touched the sphere through his pocket. It was still warm. He had thought he was hunting the creature. Now something else was hunting him, drawn by what he carried. "Why me?" he asked. The creature only blinked and turned back toward the trees. Minato wiped the dirt from his hands and stood. He could not open the sphere yet. But it had marked him now, and he could not put it down. He followed the creature deeper into the dark.

The pink creature floated ahead, then slowed near the fallen dirt bike. Minato caught up and rested a hand on its rusted frame. The constellation paint had worn thin, but the engine still turned over. He glanced at the creature. It bobbed in the air and drifted forward, waiting. Minato understood. He swung his leg over the seat and kicked the bike to life. If the creature wanted him to follow, he would not fall behind again. The creature took off through the trees. Minato twisted the throttle and chased it. Branches whipped past his face. The front wheel bounced over roots, and the rusted frame shook under him. He leaned low and held the line. The creature kept just ahead, its crimson feet tucked beneath its round body. For a while he matched its pace. Then the creature climbed. It rose above the treeline and shot forward faster. Minato gripped the bars and gunned the engine. The tires screamed over dirt. He hit a rise and the bike left the ground, then slammed down hard. His teeth cracked together. The gap between them grew. He could not fly. The creature could. "Wait," he shouted. The wind tore the word away. He pushed the bike past what it could take. The engine whined and the frame rattled like it might split. The creature was a pink dot now, far above the trees. Minato refused to lose it. He had lost it once, for six years. Not again. The creature slowed. For a second Minato thought he had closed the gap. Then it turned in the air and looked back at him. Its dark eyes found his, the same stare from the library window. It raised one stubby arm. The sphere in Minato's pocket flared hot against his leg. Light burst from the creature. It spread fast, swallowing the trees, the sky, the ground. Minato shut his eyes and the white poured through anyway. The bike dropped out from under him. He felt no fall. He felt nothing beneath his feet at all. The roar of the engine cut to silence. He floated in blank white, weightless, the throttle gone from his hand. When the white thinned, the forest was gone. Minato stood on smooth pale stone. A sky of stars curved low overhead, closer than any sky should be. The dirt bike lay beside him, cold and quiet. The pink creature hovered near, calm, as if it had done this many times. The sphere burned warm in his pocket, and its glowing lines matched the lines carved into the stone at his feet. Minato turned in a slow circle. He had chased the creature to find the star gods. Now the creature had brought him somewhere no map in the silver box had ever shown. He was not following anymore. He had arrived.

Minato stood on the pale stone and studied the carvings under his boots. Swirls, stars, and long curved lines spread out across the floor. He pulled the glowing sphere from his pocket and held it up. The lines on the sphere matched the lines on the stone, mark for mark. The whole realm was built around the thing in his hand. He turned, looking for the pink creature, but it had drifted off to one side and gone still. He followed the carvings with his eyes. They led outward, then up. Minato tilted his head back. The low sky of stars shifted. Some pulled sideways, out of place, as if an unseen hand had nudged them. One star split into two, then snapped back into one. He had never seen a sky move like that. Then the air above him darkened. A shape lowered from the stars. It was huge, wrapped in a long white robe stitched with silver designs. No hands showed. No feet. It floated, and its robe trailed below it into nothing. Where a face should be, Minato saw only black shadow and two yellow dots burning like far-off suns. Minato's breath caught. For six years he had searched for the star gods. He had told people they were real and watched them turn away. Now one hung in the air above him, and he could not make his legs move. The yellow dots fixed on the sphere in his hand. The sphere pulled free of Minato's grip. It rose on its own, drifting up through the air. He grabbed for it and missed. The sphere floated into the shadow where the god's hand should be and stopped there, held by nothing he could see. "This should not exist twice," the god said. His voice was flat and even. "One event. Two marks. I came to find the second." Minato swallowed. "I don't understand. The creature gave it to me." "The creature brought you to me." The yellow dots did not blink. "You carry a copy of a thing already counted. That is why the stars pull wrong." "Are you one of them?" Minato asked. "A star god?" "I watch the stars. I count every death." The god turned the sphere in the dark where his hand hid. "You are the wrong question. Ask how this came to be two." Minato opened his mouth, but no answer came. He had chased the creature to find the star gods. He had found one. And the one thing he had carried the whole way, the sphere, was not his to keep. It floated far above his reach now, held by a being he could not read. The pink creature bobbed once and went quiet. Minato stood with empty hands. He had reached the star gods at last. But he had arrived as a problem to be solved, not a guest, and the only object that proved his journey was gone.

Minato stared up at the orb floating in the god's shadow. His hands were still empty. Six years of searching, and the one thing he had carried was gone. The pink creature bobbed near the stone, silent. Minato's chest tightened. "Why take it from me?" he asked. "I came all this way for it." The yellow dots held on him. "You came for answers," Asteron Nova said. "The orb is the question." "Then let me see it," Minato said. His voice shook, but he held the god's gaze. The god was still for a long moment. Then the orb turned slowly in the dark where his hand should be. "I can open it," the god said, flat and even. "Then you will have your answer." Minato's breath stopped. He had held the orb for days and never found a seam, never found a catch. He had pressed and twisted and found nothing. Now the god simply tilted it. A thin line of light split the orb's surface. The star-shaped patterns on its shell pulled apart. Gold ran along the crack and widened. Minato stepped closer without meaning to. Inside the orb, small lights floated in the dark. Stars. A whole sky folded into the size of his two hands. One star hung lower than the rest, pale and steady. "That one," Minato said. He pointed. "I know that one. It's the pale star. The one near my library window." The yellow dots shifted to the small sky, then back to Minato. "You know this star." "I watched it for six years." Minato's words came fast now. "The creature always looked toward it. I wrote down where it sat." The god went very still. The orb's lights turned, and the pale star split into two, then snapped back to one. The same break Minato had seen in the sky above him. "The copy began at your star," Asteron Nova said. "Not here. There." Minato's stomach dropped. The problem was not in this stone realm at all. It had started at home, at the window where he had first seen the creature. "Someone made a second star," he said slowly. "At my library." "A thing was counted twice." The orb closed in the god's shadow. The light vanished. "Go back to where you first watched. Find what doubled the star." The pink creature drifted to Minato's side. It looked up at him with its dark eyes. "How do I get back?" Minato asked. But the god was already rising. The robe trailed up into the star-filled sky, and the orb went with him. The yellow dots grew small and distant. Minato stood on the cold stone with the creature beside him. He had his answer now, and it pointed one direction. Home. The pale star he had chased for six years was the source of everything wrong. And he had to face it with empty hands.