A million stars were scattered like diamond dust across the night sky, dancing around the few glowing moons that hung like serene lanterns. Within the gentle, silver hue they pulsed, the world felt surreal, wrapped in a soft light full of promise.

  Tucked into a cozy quilt stitched with threads of love, the baby lay wide-eyed, his gaze lost in the celestial display. He cooed a soft, questioning sound that was part awe, part melody. It was as if the sky were communicating only for him. His tiny fingers reached up and wiggled, a miniature grasp trying to pluck a moon from the sky.

  His mother held him close, settled in the gentle rhythm of her rocking chair. The soft creak of the chair a steady counterpoint to the quiet night. She watched the starlight dance in his wide eyes for a long moment, a quiet smile playing on her lips. When he finally turned his gaze from the sky to her, his face broke into a radiant, toothless grin—a pure, uncomplicated joy at the sight of her.

  “Do you see them, my love?” she whispered, her voice a soft hum. She followed his gaze back to the sky. “Those are our watchers. Just a few of them tonight.” She gently brushed a stray curl from his forehead. “But there are ten in total, scattered across the sky like a family. They take turns watching over the world, so we are never alone in the dark.”

  The baby blinked, his brow furrowing in a tiny, puzzled frown at the cascade of her words. He didn't understand, but the sound—the gentle, rhythmic cadence of her voice—was a comfort. A moment later, his confusion melted away, replaced by a delighted laugh that bubbled up from his chest, pure and clear as spring water.

  His mother’s smile widened, and she let out a soft giggle in response to his. "Oh, you like that, do you? You like my stories." She settled in, her tone shifting into the familiar, song-like quality of a tale told a hundred times. “Then let me tell you of this world, little star. Long, long ago, there were five gods.” She said while raising one of her hands into the sky.

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  She touched the child’s tiny toes, counting with each word.

  “God Bhu became the land we stand and dance upon. God Nira became the water we drink and play in. God Theeral gave his body to become the flame that warms us, and God Svas became the wind that sings to the trees.”

  The child kicked happily, a squeal of delight escaping his lips. His hands opened and closed, a reflexive mimicry of a flickering flame or the flow of a river. His mother chuckled, her heart swelling.

  “And then,” she said, her voice softening, becoming more hushed, “there was God Morkaal—the god of death.”

  She glanced toward the horizon

  “He, too, gave his body. It lies deep in the heart of the world, still and quiet. His eyes…” she paused, leaning in as if sharing a great secret. “They say they never closed. He watches over everything, ensuring all things find their rest.”

  The baby didn’t seem afraid of the somber name. Instead, he blinked slowly, his own eyes heavy with a sleepy warmth, as if the tale had wrapped him in another layer of comfort. He yawned and stretched his arms wide with satisfaction, then nestled deeper into the quilt

  His mother leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his round cheek.

  “This world is called Mayogam,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “A place born from the gods themselves and pulses with magic. And you,” she cradled his face in her hands, her gaze full of a fierce, profound love, “you are my magic.”

  Just then, a soft knock came from the far end of the house—familiar the tap of the caretaker.

  The mother sighed, a quiet, reluctant sound. She rose slowly, scooping her baby up and holding him close for one long, loving moment. His eyes fluttered, not quite asleep, but drifting on a sea of wonder.

  She turned and passed him gently to the caretaker, who reached out with practiced tenderness.

  “Watch over my star,” she said, her hands smoothing the blanket around him one last time. “I will return soon.”

  The baby let out a little hum, his tiny hand brushing against the caretaker’s collar. He blinked once more at the sky, where stars still shimmered and moons still danced, before finally resting his head against a safe, warm shoulder.

  His mother, with one last glance full of light and love, turned and disappeared down the hall to greet the guests who had arrived.