make a wish

[castthestars]

full name: Castor of Rosas

age: agelss

species: star

Birthday: not really

Personality: ISFP

Quick Bio:

Castor was once one of many stars in the night sky, living quietly among the cosmos, watching the world below with distant admiration. While most stars simply glowed and listened, Castor was different: restless, curious, always lingering a little closer to the edge. It was that curiosity that pulled him toward Earth the night he heard Asha's wish. Her voice rang clear and sincere, brimming with hope that tugged at something deep in his stardust core.

Unlike the other stars who moved on, Castor couldn’t. He followed the wish. And when he found her, he didn’t just meet Asha, he met humanity. Its beauty, its chaos, its contradictions. Ever since, he’s stayed in Elias, blending in where he can, observing, learning, and slowly discovering that perhaps there’s more to life than orbiting from afar.

He’s still trying to understand the intricacies of emotion, purpose, and connection but something about the way humans wish even when everything seems lost… makes him want to keep watching. And maybe, in time, be part of that light too.

[sylviexue]

open starter / location : bakery

it was the end of the day and sylvie was about to lock up for the night. she liked working at the bakery because it reminded her of all the work that she did when she was in the castle. when her step mother forced her to work instead of getting to spend time learning how to rule. getting covered in flour, baking bread, being around an oven was so familiar and comforting to her. plus if she worked at the bakery she could take home any of the pastries at the end of the night. she occasionally was too tired to cook dinner when she got home, relying on whatever she could find. she wasn't going to go home just yet today, wanting to socialize in town for a bit or walk home slowly.

today there was plenty of left from today. she gathered a basket of the leftover pastries. it was far too much for everyone at the cottage to get through, even the eight of them. maybe someone outside would want something. sylvie locked the door to the bakery up and flagged down the nearest person. "excuse me. i hope you don't find this too odd, but i have a bunch of leftover pastries from today. would you like to try something? i'll never get through all of this basket."

[castthestars]

Castor slowed when she called out, turning with the unhurried ease of someone who never felt particularly rushed by anything including time. His gaze dropped first to the basket. Then to her. Then back to the basket again, as if confirming this wasn’t some elaborate trap disguised as kindness. "…You’re offering pastries to strangers in the street at night,” he said, tone light but threaded with curiosity. “That’s either very generous… or very bold.”

He stepped closer, peering into the basket like it held something far more interesting than baked goods like he was trying to understand the intent behind it rather than the contents. “You made these?” he asked, glancing back up at her. There was something softer in his expression now. “Then it would be rude to refuse.” He paused, studying it for a second before adding, almost thoughtfully, “Also, I’ve been told accepting offerings from kind strangers tends to lead to interesting outcomes.”

[clawthorncs]

@castthestars

the library was too still in the hush hours, as king sat at a table he claimed was for studying (though really it offered the best view) his notebook was sprawled open, pages crowded with messy notes and jagged arrows leading to ideas he could almost name. he tapped his pen against the margin, then let it wander across the paper again before adding.

castor prefers the north entrance. is the ground going to betray him? why does he walk that way?

chin on his hand, eyes drifting across the room again just in time to catch sight of him..the moment he entered the room, something in his chest did that strange thing again..like a low note vibrating through a cathedral bell. constant. warm and a bit unsettling. king frowned slightly, pressing the pen harder to the page.

heart does the humming thing again. he underlined it twice. nothing about it made sense. he had met powerful people before. dangerous people. old magic, strange magic, impossible magic. yet, none of them had ever made his ribs feel like they were quietly singing..none of them made him lose his breath.lose. yet, castor barely spared him a glance as he passed and he almost lost it.

observation #12: possibly thinks i’m annoying.

king scribbled that down too. he wasn’t offended. if anything, it made the whole situation feel… safer. cold reactions were easier to understand than the strange pull that kept drawing his attention back to the other boy like gravity..his eyes followed him..for a moment..okay.. several moments before he shifted in his chair, flipping his notebook. fingers drummed against the cover as he watched castor move through the room with that same distant.  he let out a quiet breath, running a hand through his hair before glancing back down at the notebook.

he hesitated. before opening it again. question: why does my heart react to him like this? he stared at the words for a long moment in wonder.

[castthestars]

He crossed the library with his usual quiet confidence, one hand brushing along the backs of chairs as he passed, gaze skimming titles and faces without settling on any of them. There was a pause in Castor’s step so small most people wouldn’t have seen it. His eyes flicked over the scribbled pages, the scattered arrows, the restless energy humming through the other like a live wire. Ah. That explained the feeling. Castor continued walking past him… then stopped two tables away. He stood there for a moment, head tilted slightly as if listening to something distant. He turned around. When he reached the table, he didn’t ask permission before pulling the chair out and sitting down across from King, resting his elbow lightly on the wood like this had always been the plan.

For a moment, he just watched him. Endearingly familiar in a way that made the back of Castor’s mind itch. “You’re doing it again,” he said finally, voice calm but edged with mild amusement. His eyes flicked briefly to the notebook. “Observing me like I’m a migrating bird.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Which would be flattering,” he added lightly, “if you weren’t taking notes like a stalker trying to catch prey.”

Castor leaned back slightly in the chair, studying him more openly now. There it was again that strange tug in his chest. Not unpleasant. Just… unfinished. Like recognizing a melody without remembering the song. “You know,” he continued, softer now, “most people stare for about three seconds before pretending they weren’t.” His gaze sharpened just a little. “You’ve been staring for twenty-seven minutes. Which means one of two things.” His head tilted. “You’re either very brave…” A faint spark of humor lit in his eyes. “…or very confused.”

[ichcrane]

//starter

Ichabod occupies the farthest seat in the café, where the light thins and conversation blurs into something indistinct. The dimness suits him. It allows him to observe without being observed. The low hum of chatter settles into white noise, though he does not truly tune it out. He listens, selectively, sifting through fragments of dialogue in the faint hope that some careless remark might prove useful to his case.

Most of it is intolerably mundane. With quiet resignation, he withdraws a book borrowed from the library — a historical account of Elias, its older districts and half-forgotten foundations. The spine is stiff, as though rarely opened, yet the pages are browned with age, touched by time if not by readers. He studies it with measured attention, one leg crossed neatly over the other. The only light he permits himself is the pale spill of a streetlamp through the window beside him.

A chair scrapes across the floor. Someone sits opposite him. A controlled, steady breath follows.

Ichabod does not look up immediately. He turns a page instead, allowing the silence to stretch. It is unusual for anyone to approach him uninvited — more unusual still to do so without speaking. But human motives are rarely worth premature speculation. If they intend something, they will reveal it.

He continues reading. An artificial clearing of the throat breaks the quiet. That, apparently, is his cue. Only then does he lift his gaze — calm, composed, analytical. “Can I help you?” he asks evenly.

[castthestars]

Castor had taken the seat without asking. He hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t ordered coffee. Hadn’t even pretended to look at the menu board. Instead, he had watched the man read with the sort of patience most people only managed when studying constellations. When he finally looked up, Castor’s expression brightened faintly, as though a small experiment had reached its expected conclusion.

“Help me?” he echoed, voice light but thoughtful. “Not particularly.” He leaned back in the chair, glancing briefly at the book in Ichabod’s hands before returning his gaze to the man himself. “I was curious.”

His tone suggested that curiosity was justification enough for most actions. “You chose the least comfortable seat in the room, the dimmest light available, and a book no one reads unless they’re looking for something specific.” His fingers tapped once on the tabletop, absent rhythm. He gestured lightly toward the book. “So,” he said, settling in like the conversation had already been mutually agreed upon, “what exactly are you hoping to find buried under the city?”

[scattereddrcams]

Sora lowered the wooden sword just a little, the easy grin on his face shifting into something more curious at the tone in Castor’s voice. “Advertise danger politely?” he echoed, amused. “That’s kinda my thing. My friendly face is the politeness.” But then Castor said it. I’ve seen you. Sora stilled, not tense, just attentive. He’d learned the difference. His blue eyes searched the stranger’s face, not defensive, just… trying to place him. When Castor glanced at the sky, something in Sora’s chest tugged faintly. Familiar in a way he couldn’t quite name.

“More worlds. Higher stakes...sounds like trouble I get in to.” Sora repeated softly. A small, knowing smile tugged at his own mouth now. He rested the wooden blade across his shoulder, posture loose. “It’s nice, though. No collapsing timelines. No giant shadow monsters. Just grass stains and splinters.”

At the comment about a hero fighting when he’s not trying to save anyone, Sora tilted his head. “That’s the thing,” he said lightly. “I don’t really know how to fight without trying to save someone.” He stepped back into the clearing, gesturing loosely around them. “Even this? It’s about helping people feel stronger.” His gaze flicked back to Castor, sharp in a way that wasn’t naïve anymore. “So if you’ve seen me before… you probably know I’m not great at doing things halfway.” A small, playful shrug. “But you can watch. That’s allowed.” He spun the wooden sword once in his hand, then added with a grin.

[castthestars]

Castor watched the wooden blade spin like it was a small orbit, perfectly predictable in Sora’s hand. The grin. The openness. The quiet steel underneath it now. Yes, he thought, almost fondly. That one survived some storms. When Sora said he didn’t know how to fight without trying to save someone, Castor’s mouth curved slightly not mocking, just recognizing the shape of the truth. “Of course you don’t,” he said lightly. “That’s the whole design.” He leaned back against the low fence bordering the clearing, arms folding loosely as if he’d just settled in for a show. “Some people fight to win. Some fight because they’re angry. Some fight because they were told they were supposed to.” His gaze flicked up to Sora again, sharp in a quieter way. “You fight because you can’t stand the idea of someone else getting hurt if you could’ve stopped it.”

A small tilt of his head. “Terrible survival strategy, by the way.” The comment came dry, but there was no bite in it. When Sora invited him to watch, Castor lifted two fingers in a lazy salute. “Oh, I plan to. Observing heroes in their natural habitat is a rare opportunity.” His eyes drifted briefly to the sky again, as though checking something only he could see, then returned to Sora. “But don’t sell quiet moments short, Keyblade wielder. The peaceful chapters are the ones heroes forget to appreciate.” He pushed off the fence slightly, curiosity bright now. “So,” Castor added, gesturing with a small flick of his hand toward the practice space, “show me how the famous Sora trains when he isn’t saving the universe.”

[violetheroism]

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She chose to just nod at his odd statement. Yes, she agreed without words, we could always hear you. When he tipped the cup towards her, she instinctively leaned back to get away from a potential spill — when it was just an empty cup (and a quirky gesture), she rolled her eyes with a smile.

Violet had gotten accustomed to odd responses in Elias; the place was made of the weird and whimsical after all, so she was bound to come across someone...not only mortal.

The thought still caused an involuntary blink though, as if her mind was still rejecting the idea. Or at least just struggling to accept it. And now he was a star too?

"You're a star...on the ground. A...fallen star?" she asked, slowing at the end. It seemed like it could be a potentially sensitive topic. No one liked to fall, after all. Her mouth twitched, allowing herself a small, friendly smile. "I'm not uncomfortable. Thanks for asking though. Being where things are happening is nice, I get it." She looked down at her hands; seeing him drum made her want to mimic the motion, and she too began drumming softly on the wooden back of the chair. Two words (collecting souls?) he said caught her attention, but his next words made her forget it for a moment —

Violet slowly shook her head. "...oh, no, man. I'm not brave. It was just a question — anyone can ask a question. And we're in Elias, so the actual brave people are off doing the real brave things like finding people and making the city safer..hopefully..but, wait," she diverted, "do people really run and scream when you say you're a star? People tend to like stars."

[castthestars]

Castor watched her process him like someone trying to solve a puzzle that kept politely rearranging itself. When she said fallen star, his smile didn’t vanish but it shifted. “Ah,” he said lightly, tapping the rim of the empty cup against the table once. “See, ‘fallen’ makes it sound like I tripped over gravity and never recovered.” He leaned back in his chair, balancing it briefly on two legs like he might test gravity again just to spite it.“I prefer ‘temporarily misplaced celestial object.’ Much less tragic.” Her drumming fingers caught his attention.

He mirrored the rhythm without thinking, “And no,” he continued, tone gentler now. “I didn’t fall. Not in the dramatic exile sense. I stepped down. Voluntarily.” A small shrug. “Stars burn. Constantly. Turns out that gets exhausting after a few millennia.” When she dismissed her own bravery, he tilted his head, studying her with a little more focus. “You say that like questions don’t matter,” he said. “And yes. Some people run. Some people scream. Some people try to make a wish. It’s a very mixed reception.” He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Most people like stars when they’re far away.” His eyes flicked upward briefly, as if referencing a sky only he could see. “It’s different when one is sitting across from you drinking mediocre coffee.”

[fateofaurora]

Aurora stepped lightly into the café, the bell above the door chiming in gentle contrast to the chaos that awaited her. Her eyes adjusted quickly not to the lighting, but to the unmistakable whirlwind of caffeine fueled clutter dominating the corner table. Her brows lifted, amused, and she made her way toward him, tilting her head as if examining an art installation. “Altar of caffeine?” she echoed, lips twitching into a small smile. “It certainly looks like something’s been summoned here… though I’m not entirely sure it was divine.”

Graceful as ever, she slid into the chair opposite him, carefully nudging aside a cup with one finger. She didn’t disturb the rest, it felt almost sacred, in its strange way. “You always did find beauty in chaos,” she added gently, folding her hands in her lap.

Her gaze flickered to the window, watching a pair of children race past outside, chasing something only they could see. The smile dimmed just a touch. “I can see the appeal. Cafés like these… they hum with life. And right now, that’s something I’m trying to remember how to hold.”

Turning back to him, her voice was soft but not fragile. “Do you always create shrines for your muses, or is this just a seasonal display?” she teased lightly, eyes warm but tinged with a melancholy that never quite left her these days. “Because if this is devotion, Castor, it’s awfully jittery.” Still, she reached for one of the cleaner cups and took a tentative sip. “Terrible,” she judged, almost fondly. “But thank you.”

[castthestars]

Castor didn’t look remotely offended. If anything, he looked delighted. He leaned back in his chair, boots hooked casually on a rung, gaze sweeping over the battlefield of empty cups like a general admiring his campaign. “Excuse you,” he said mildly, hands lifting in defense. “This is not chaos. This is a carefully curated ecosystem. Every cup represents a breakthrough thought I almost had.”

His eyes flicked to her when she called it an altar. “Well,” he admitted, tilting his head, “if I did summon something, I was aiming for inspiration. Or brilliance. Or at least a coherent paragraph.” A small grin tugged at his mouth. “Pretty sure I got mild heart palpitations instead.”

He watched her move the cup without dismantling the rest and noticed how considerate she was. “You always did treat my disasters like they were gallery pieces,” he said softly. “It’s very generous of you.”

When she declared the coffee terrible, he gasped in mock offense. “Blasphemy. That cup has character.” he shrugged. “…But yes. It’s awful. I ordered it because the name sounded poetic.”

[violetheroism]

Violet had the lucky position of being at the table right next to the Chaos Table. Her chair was back-to-back with his, so though the growing pile of stuff on his table wasn't near her by any means, the general atmosphere of impending disaster was inching towards her. She'd already scooted her chair and table as far from him as possible, but it still wasn't far enough.

Everyone had their own thing, after all. As long as he wasn't hurting anyone.

When he called out to the newcomer, Violet caught the newcomer's eye and grimaced, shaking her head as a warning. No, you don't have to sit with them if you don't want to, her eyes said.

But strange as he was, she still noticed that he did seem to be doing something. Violet noted the scribbled napkins.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling, she spun around on her chair to address him. "Did you call everyone mortals earlier? Implying that you're...not?"

[castthestars]

Castor startled, just a little, at the voice directly behind him, like someone had tapped a bell he’d forgotten was there. He blinked, then turned in his chair, knees angling sideways so he could look at Violet properly. “Oh,” he said, brightening immediately. “You can hear me. Good.” At her question, he paused. Not long, just enough to consider how much truth to pour into a moment like this. “Yes,” Castor answered simply. Honest. No flourish. “I did mean it that way.”

He tipped one of the empty cups toward her in a half-salute, eyes flicking briefly to the café around them. "I’m not mortal. Or-” he tilted his head, thinking, “not only that. I was a star. Still am, technically. Just… closer to the ground these days.”

He smiled, sheepish and a little dazzled, like he wasn’t sure if that sounded ridiculous out loud. “I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable. I’m not here to collect souls or judge anyone’s coffee habits. I just… like being where things are happening.”

His eyes drifted to her hands, to the way she carried herself, then back to her face. “You don’t react the way most people do,” he observed gently. “No screaming. No running. Just a very reasonable question.” Castor leaned back, drumming his fingers once against the table, voice lowering conspiratorially. “So. Are you always this brave? Or am I having a particularly good morning?”

[scattereddrcams]

[ ♛ ]  ° •  open starter for  »  ... everyone .

The  midday  sun  filtered  through  the  patchy  clouds  above  Elias,  casting  dappled  light  over  the  small  green  space  tucked  between  city  blocks.  Not  quite  a  training  field,  not  quite  a  playground,  just  enough  space  for  someone  like  Sora  to  stretch,  move,  and  maybe…  make  a  few  new  friends.

A  hand-painted  sign  leaned  against  the  bench  where  he’d  dropped  his  bag:

LOOKING  TO  SPAR? Friendly  duels  welcome!  Just  training,  not  trouble.  —Sora

He  stood  in  the  center  of  the  clearing  now,  Keyblade  spinning  easily  in  one  hand  as  he  moved  through  a  series  of  warm-up  swings.  His  motions  were  fluid,  practiced  but  his  smile  was  easygoing,  bright.  This  wasn’t  about  showing  off.  This  was  about  connection.  After  all,  you  learned  a  lot  about  people  by  how  they  fought  and  how  they  didn’t.

Sora  paused,  resting  the  Keyblade  on  his  shoulder  as  a  shadow  approached.  He'd  summoned  another  for  someone  else  to  use  but  he  also  had  wooden  swords  and  staffs.

“Hey,”  he  greeted,  waving  with  his  free  hand.  “You  here  to  watch…  or  join  in?”

[castthestars]

Castor slowed at the edge of the clearing, boots crunching softly against the grass as he took in the scene with open, unabashed interest. The sign. The easy confidence. The way the Keyblade moved like it belonged there, as natural as breathing. His head tilted in curiosity.

“Hm,” he hummed, eyes tracking the arc of Sora’s last swing. “You advertise danger very politely.”His gaze lingered, not on the weapon, but on him. Something in his expression shifted, curiosity sharpening into recognition he didn’t quite voice.

“…I’ve seen you,” Castor said slowly, more to himself than as an accusation. His eyes flicked briefly skyward, then back again, a small, knowing smile tugging at his mouth. “Not like this. Usually there are more… worlds involved. And significantly higher stakes.”

He stepped closer, stopping just short of the scattered practice weapons, peering at them as though choosing from a menu. “But I suppose everyone deserves a day where the universe isn’t ending.” Castor looked up at Sora again, bright and intrigued. “I’ll watch,” he decided, after a beat. “For now. I’m curious how a hero fights when he’s not trying to save anyone.”

[chessmorrigan]

status: open ! location: outside a cafe on main street time: too early to be asking weirdo questions

chess leaned against the brick exterior of the cafe, patterned fabric almost itching against his skin as he watched the morning rush. to most of these people, he looked like nothing more than an eccentric local, but his gaze - sharp and unblinking - tracked pedestrians with a feline glare. the coffee was no interest to him - not when heavy foot traffic meant data collection.

for who or what he was collecting for would be clear later.

one by one people left the coffee shop to run off and do whatever else it was they did on a friday morning, clinging to their routines like rafts in order to survive the day. these routines were no interest to him either, as he pushed off the wall and headed toward an emerging stranger with one too many drinks in their hands. drifting into the path with a disarming, lopsided grin that didn't quite reach their eyes, chess tilted their head. "tell me," he chirped, skipping introduction or pleasantries. "does the person you see in the mirror enjoy you staring at them, or are you disrupting something?"

[castthestars]

Castor didn’t startle easily. Mostly because he didn’t startle. His senses extended beyond the mundane and the approach of the strange one was felt well before he stepped into view. He didn’t blink at the question. Just smiled, faintly, because this was expected by people.

“I’d say the person in the mirror is terribly disappointed, actually,” Castor answered evenly. “He expected a god and got a man with an espresso addiction and a poorly buttoned coat.” He shifted one of the cups from one hand to the other, tilting it toward Chess in mimicry of a toast. “We’re all disruptive if we stare long enough, aren’t we?”

He stepped around the other, posture relaxed but eyes sharp with a knowing gleam. “Tell me… are you the kind who enjoys asking questions? Or the kind who already knows the answers and is just waiting to see if someone else does too?"

[castthestars]

Open starter for everyone

The small table near the window had long lost any semblance of order. Cups, mismatched sizes, varying degrees of fullness, were scattered like fallen chess pieces across the surface. Castor sat in the eye of the storm, legs crossed neatly, fingers drumming a rapid rhythm against his knee as he watched the ebb and flow of patrons like it was a theater performance tailored just for him.

Pupils blown wide with stimulation, yet there was a contented curve to his mouth as he sipped from what might have been his seventh cup. Or tenth. Who was counting? “I think I understand why mortals romanticize this place,” he said aloud to no one in particular, lifting his latest drink in a salute to the barista who was too polite to ask him to leave. He shifted slightly, adjusting the stack of napkin doodles he'd scribbled while eavesdropping: fragments of overheard conversation, predictions, theories.

With the latest bell-ring of the door, Castor leaned back in his chair and called out conversationally, “There’s room at the altar of caffeine, if you’re brave enough.” He gestured to the chaos on his table, as if proud of the shrine he’d built.

[arielnystrom]

location: outside elias enchanted library, 11am. (1/5).

it was the first year ariel had gotten a table at the toy maker’s alley pop-up because - well - it was the first year she was crafting things with the whozits and whatzits she collected day after day. while she managed to fill the grotto to the brim with found objects, the spirit of any maker's market was to make. of course. but now ariel was stuck in a situation where she needed help transporting stock from the grotto to the pop-up which, yes, translated to transporting from the underland to new elias. but it wouldn't be so bad if the person had a car!

so now, ariel was posting flyers with her phone number in hopes that someone would just be willing to do it.

"do you have a car? i will pay you to help me." ariel tried to pass off one of her flyers as people passed her on the sidewalk. "plus the cost of gas and a meal - will you do it?"

[castthestars]

Castor hadn’t quite gotten the hang of human customs yet, there were still so many, but he had seen enough to know that standing in the cold with desperation in your voice and a stack of oddly folded papers meant one thing: you needed help.

He paused mid-step, eyes narrowing at the crinkled flyer in Ariel’s hand. “…What is a car exactly?” Castor asked, taking the flyer to examine it. “Is it the loud machine with wheels and scent of fuel and metal music that makes everything vibrate slightly off-key?” He realized he couldn't be any help to her. “I don’t have one. But I am…very good at carrying things.”

“You’re Ariel, aren’t you? From the pop-up list. Your name was circled. Twice.” He gave a pleased little nod. “I’m Castor. I’m new here. But I like helping. Especially makers.” He gestured awkwardly toward the flyer still in her hand. “I would accept payment in the form of stories. ” He grinned. “Deal?”

[clawthorncs]

the cold tickled his nose just enough to make it scrunch, and the cheer in the air felt fizzy, he paused in the town square, half-eaten sugar cookie still in his hands, gaze lifting to the massive tree at its center. at the very top sat the star..bright, glowing, and unapologetically dramatic. he couldn't help but stare at it, head tilting slowly. studying it . his eyes narrowed, tail flicking behind him as his form glitched for just a heartbeat.. the tree was tall and regal. he crossed his arms, pretending to brood, but the smile kept sneaking back anyway. something warm settling in his chest that had absolutely nothing to do with cocoa and everything to do with this. he watched the people gathering beneath it. all laughing, smiling, and pointing..leaning into one another like gravity worked better here than anywhere else.

then...bonk.

he stopped short, nearly walking straight into something or more like someone that wasn’t supposed to be there. he leaned back instinctively, eyes refocusing until he realized...oh. it was a person..a floating person? directly in his line of sight. he stared up at them. then around them. then back again, slower this time. "most people use fee-..." tail stilling mid-flick as something behind his eyes shifted..searching..his form glitching as he squinted, head tipping to the side. "do i know you?" the question came out softer than expected. curious but with a certain in a way he couldn’t explain.

[castthestars]

Castor blinked once, twice, pupils dilating ever so slightly as he studied the boy in front of him. Castor tilted his head further, eyes glowing faintly like frost catching moonlight, but the glitch in his form smoothed out. He stood a little straighter. “I don’t think we’ve officially met,” he said lightly. “But you feel familiar.”

“But then again,” Castor added, stepping half a circle around King, pretending to admire the lights on the tree again, “a lot of people look up and wish real hard this time of year. Maybe I just remind you of someone.” He stopped, finally turning to face him again with a soft smile. “You’ve got good eyes, though. Sharp. Curious. I like that.” His head tilted slight. “What’s your name?”

He wasn’t ready to tell him. Not yet. Not that he used to watch him from a distance, a streak of light cast in the cosmos, listening to a boy who never made small wishes. Not that Castor had kept track even after he fell. For now, he just wanted to know what kind of person King had become.

[castthestars]

open starter for everyone

The scent of caramelized sugar and burning firewood drifted through the air, curling into the sleeves of Castor’s coat as he strolled between booths with hands tucked neatly behind his back. The winter festival, as the locals called it, had transformed the city center into a glittering maze of noise, light, and sentiment. Sentiment which, if he was being objective, seemed both excessive and inefficient.

Strings of twinkling lights cast fleeting halos over the crowds, and Castor’s sharp eyes took in everything, the way children tugged parents toward peppermint stands, the inexplicable popularity of artificially flavored cocoa, the mild chaos of a snowball toss game that was clearly rigged for entertainment over outcome. 'Curious,' he thought to himself, pausing to watch a trio of teenagers argue about whether reindeer were government-funded constructs or actual fauna. 'No measurable gain, yet they seem satisfied just by being near one another.'

His gaze flicked to a vendor sculpting miniature snowmen using enchanted frost. The magic was rudimentary. The joy it caused was not. Castor tilted his head.'Perhaps there’s more information to be gathered.' He did his best to keep his feet on the ground, literally, but he found himself floating at times as he was now trying to peek at what the person was holding.