The twilight skies of Aerthos shimmered between gold and lavender, twin moons suspended like watchful eyes above the capital.

Every screen across the city pulsed the same feed—
“Festival of Gilded Harvest — Opening Performance: The Bloom of Dawn.”

The plaza glowed with floating lanterns and silk banners that rippled in the wind. At its center, the stage waited—an enormous living flower of glass and vine. Its petals shifted faintly under the lights, humming with Aerthos’ quiet heartbeat.

Crowds filled the terraces and balconies surrounding the square. Even the air felt charged, trembling at the edges of the music that hadn’t yet begun.

Then the first note struck—soft and low, a pulse beneath the skin.
Emotion by Fyze.

Mist unfurled from the stage. The petals parted in slow bloom.

Luma stood at its heart.

She wore Aerthos’ twilight—silvers and soft pastels that shimmered like the moons reflected on water. Crystals traced delicate constellations along her wrists and throat, catching the faintest flicker of her glow.

From the wing, Nyra’s voice trembled through the comm:
“Just breathe, Little Glow. Don’t think—feel it.”

Luma did.

The bass deepened, and with her first motion, the stage breathed back.

When her foot brushed the living petal, it rippled—light following the arc of her spin, chasing her like a reflection in moving water. Each sway of her body stirred the vines that framed the stage, their flowers opening one by one in rhythm with her movements.

The crowd gasped. They thought it was stage design—
the latest holo-trick, some timed illusion.

But the plaza itself was alive.
It was responding.

Each turn of her wrist sent a shimmer racing through the crystal filaments beneath her feet. When she leapt, the petals pulsed in gold. When she bowed, the lights dimmed in reverence.

The air filled with drifting motes of pollen that caught the light like falling stars.

Across the city, the Halo feeds streamed every heartbeat of it.
In the villages, children spun in circles trying to copy her glow.
In the upper towers, nobles leaned forward, spellbound.

The capital shimmered under the twin moons.
Every street, every rooftop terrace, every living vine of Aerthos pulsed with light in anticipation.

High above the city, in the Command Citadel’s upper observatory, the six planetary commanders gathered.
Each wore their colors—crimson for Ky’Rynia, silver for Solnyra, cobalt for TBN, obsidian for the Abyssal Rings, gold for the Sky Colonies, and deep green for Aerthos itself.

At the center table, Rue stood flanked by Amaya and Prism.
The air was formal, heavy with perfume and ozone. Halo screens floated in a perfect ring around them, projecting the festival’s live feed in flawless clarity.

Below, the plaza came alive in silver flame.

Music began—soft, pulsing, the rhythm of Aerthos’ heart.
The living flower at the stage’s center unfurled under the lights, and from its core, Luma stepped into view.

Rue didn’t breathe.

Her silks shimmered pastel under the moonlight—silver, lavender, and faint gold. Crystals traced down her arms like starlight veins. For a heartbeat, the room above forgot how to speak.

“Who is she?” murmured the Commander of Solnyra. “That light—does your planet breed them this way, Rue?”

Prism snorted, low enough to get a sharp elbow from Amaya. “Breed’s a strong word, shiny-pants.”

Amaya’s tone was calm, clipped. “She’s a performer. House Swan’s chosen representative for the Aviary branch. Nothing more.”

The Solnyran smiled thin. “Then your world hides its saints in silks.”

Rue said nothing. Her claws flexed once against the table, silent.

On the screens, Luma turned, movements slow, reverent. The petals beneath her feet rippled in answer—light blooming outward like water touched by gold.

The audience roared below, but up in the tower, a hush fell. The plaza itself seemed to breathe in rhythm with her—every pulse of light matching her heart.

“That’s not projection mapping,” Prism muttered, awe mixing with disbelief. “The readings are coming off the charts… the plants are responding to her frequency.”

The Aerthos Commander—an elder woman crowned in moss and metal—nodded faintly, her tone reverent. “She dances with the land. The Grove remembers her kind.”

Rue’s jaw tightened. Her kind.

On-screen, Luma moved faster now, her glow brightening until the petals beneath her shone pure white.
For one impossible heartbeat, her light brushed the sky—and every Halo feed across Aerthos flickered.

The room gasped.
Prism whispered, “Boss…”

Rue’s eyes burned faint violet in the reflection of the screen. “It’s her,” she murmured.

Amaya’s voice cut in, steady but low. “Control yourself. The Council is watching.”

Rue didn’t respond.

Down below, the music reached its peak. The flower opened fully, lifting Luma high above the crowd. Her silks caught the wind, painting the night in silver arcs. When she bowed, the petals dimmed, pulsing once—like a heartbeat syncing with her own.

Applause rolled through the city.

One of the Commanders leaned forward, smirking. “A spectacle worthy of the Summit. House Swan outdid himself.”

Rue’s voice was quiet. “He had nothing to do with it.”

The Solnyran chuckled. “Then who did?”

Rue turned away from the screens, eyes still glowing faint violet.
“She did.”

The chamber fell silent.

Even the Halo screens flickered in soft delay before looping the moment again—Luma frozen mid-turn, haloed in silver light.

Prism exhaled through her teeth, muttering under her breath, “Guess Little Glow just made herself a legend.”

Amaya’s gaze stayed on Rue. “Or a target.”

Rue didn’t answer. The wind from the open observatory balcony stirred her coat, carrying the scent of Aerthos night and crushed petals.

She watched the glow fade on the horizon and whispered so quietly only Amaya caught it—
“She always did.”

The chamber stayed hushed long after the final note faded.
Outside the windows, the festival plaza shimmered like a pool of liquid glass—lanterns, terraces, and the upper streets of the capital still glowed faintly from the resonance she had stirred. The rest of Aerthos slept unchanged.

The Aerthian Commander broke the silence first.
“Localized flora activation only,” she murmured, eyes scanning the readouts. “Roughly one and a half kilometers around the plaza. It responded to her, then quieted. Still… the pattern was organic.”

The Solnyran leaned back in his chair, too pleased with his own analysis.
“Organic or not, it’s power. Even a brief pulse like that can bend soil composition, alter humidity. Imagine if someone trained her.”

Prism’s tail flicked once beneath the table. “Imagine if you left her alone.”

A ripple of nervous laughter passed among the delegates; it died quickly under Rue’s glare.

“Your performer’s frequency reached military sensors,” the Solnyran continued. “We need the data for replication.”

The Aerthian’s moss crown trembled as she shook her head.
“She was not performing for your laboratories. The city responded because it remembered harmony.”

“Romantic notion,” he said dryly. “But unstable harmony can still break things.”

Rue’s voice came low and level. “You didn’t see instability. You saw life.”

He turned his smile toward her. “Commander of TBN, do I detect personal investment?”

Prism started to speak, but Amaya’s hand on her arm kept her still.
Rue’s claws tapped the table once, a precise sound. “You detect irritation. Nothing more.”

The Sky Colony delegate interjected, tone smooth.
“Protocol requires verification. If her resonance can influence bio-architecture even on that scale, we must ensure it’s not a threat.”

A light pulse from the central console cut through their voices.
Directive: Summon the Performer for Resonance Verification — Tomorrow at Dawn.

The Aerthian sighed, ancient sorrow in her tone. “You’ll break her spirit before you even understand it.”

“Better that than risk contamination,” the Solnyran replied.

Rue’s eyes flared faint violet. “You mistake illumination for infection.”

Amaya’s warning glance said enough—the Council is watching.
Rue stood anyway. The screens mirrored her reflection, all sharp edges and contained fury.

“Prepare your summons,” she said quietly. “But remember what happened tonight wasn’t yours to command.”

She left the chamber, the scent of ozone and crushed petals lingering in her wake.

Behind her, Prism exhaled, voice barely above a whisper.
“Guess the morning’s gonna be fun.”

Amaya’s gaze stayed on the door. “For someone, at least.”

The roar of the crowd rolled upward until it filled the sky.

“Nova! Nova! Nova!”

The chant thundered through the terraces and the living vines still pulsing with light. For the first time, it wasn’t a title on a feed or a name buried in a registry—it was hers, carried by thousands of voices.

Luma stood just beyond the curtain, breathing hard, glitter still clinging to her skin.
Nyra’s wings brushed her shoulder, steady and proud.
“Breathe, Little Glow. You won them.”

Luma laughed, half-disbelieving. “I didn’t mean to win hearts.”

Nyra grinned, passing her a cup of honey and fruit wine. “You didn’t have to. They were already waiting.”

The chant outside swelled again—“Nova!”—rising into the night as if Aerthos itself had joined in.

Luma lifted the cup, the gold liquid catching the stage lights, and whispered, “To the first night they said it like it mattered.”

Nyra tapped her glass against Luma’s. “To the first of many.”

The shuttle bay doors folded open, spilling moonlight across the platform. Air shimmered with the residue of the performance—pollen motes, soft gold against the violet sky. Down in the plaza, the crowd still sang her name, the sound lifting and fading as the wind carried it up the mountain.

Nyra guided her toward the waiting transport, the glass wings of its frame gleaming like dew.
“Careful,” she murmured. “You’re still running high.”

Luma’s laughter came out breathless. “I can feel it in my skin. Like the light’s still moving.”

“That’s the bloom talking.” Nyra handed her another small cup of fruit wine before taking her own seat.
“Drink. Let it settle.”

The shuttle lifted on a whisper of air, rising above the terraces. From here, the capital looked like a living sea—ribbons of light weaving between the towers, the stage at its center folding closed like a flower going to sleep.

Luma pressed her hand against the glass. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly.

Nyra tilted her head, watching the reflection of the twin moons slide across Luma’s face.
“You realize you just lit half the city. There’ll be songs about this by morning.”

Luma smiled faintly. “Then I hope they get the steps right.”

“They won’t,” Nyra said, grinning. “They never do.”

They both laughed, the sound quiet in the hum of the engines. The wine was sweet, almost syrupy, and the heat of it unwound the last of Luma’s trembling. The shuttle angled toward the upper spires where the Envoy suites floated in their glass rings.

Below, the flower stage pulsed once—one final heartbeat of light—and went dark.

Nyra leaned back, wings shifting against the seat. “House Swan will be unbearable after this. He’ll claim you made the entire planet fall in love.”

Luma looked out over the glowing city. “Maybe just for tonight.”

“Tonight’s enough,” Nyra said. She reached over, clinking their glasses once more.
“To the Nova who reminded a planet how to feel.”

Luma took a slow sip, the honeyed sweetness catching in her throat. “To the friend who made sure I didn’t fall apart doing it.”

The shuttle leveled out, carrying them toward the ring of Envoy lights that crowned the horizon. Behind them, Aerthos shimmered under the twin moons, still humming with the echo of her dance...