Genres: Fantasy AU, Mystery, Romance
A quick note before you start: Star is the main character, but she's written to be experienced however you prefer. You can read her as her own character, or imagine yourself in her place. While she has a name and her own story, l've tried to leave plenty of room for readers to connect with her in their own way.
Star had never been a morning person.
Still, every day at six on the dot, her alarm dragged her out of sleep whether she was ready or not. By now, the routine should have made it easier. It hadn’t.
Lately, she felt even more tired than usual.
It was the last week of school. Summer break. She remembered what that used to feel like—the excitement, the countdown, the way the whole world seemed to open up after the final bell. No homework. No schedules. No real responsibilities.
That feeling was gone now.
The tiredness stayed, though.
Maybe that was part of growing up. Seasons stopped meaning what they used to once work became the thing your life revolved around. Star was twenty-six now. She had bills, responsibilities, and a job that started early whether she liked it or not.
What a wonderful trade it was.
At least, that was what she told herself every morning when the alarm went off before sunrise.
Truthfully, welding had never been some childhood dream. She hadn’t grown up imagining sparks flying around her while metal melted beneath a torch. But it paid the bills. It kept food on the table.
There was something satisfying about taking cold pieces of metal and turning them into something useful. Something strong.
With a tired stretch, Star dragged herself out of bed and got ready for the day.
Work clothes were easy. Same pants, same shirt, same boots. No choices to make. No time wasted standing in front of a closet. She dressed quickly, then headed into the kitchen to start breakfast.
She cracked them into a bowl, mixed them with a fork, then left them on the counter while she made her usual rounds.
“Atlas, wake up. Breakfast will be ready in five minutes,” she called through her younger brother’s door.
Then she moved to the room next to his. She didn’t bother knocking this time. It never helped.
Aurora was still buried under her blankets, dead to the world. Several alarms had already been turned off.
Star walked over and shook her shoulder.
“Aurora. Wake up. Breakfast will be ready soon. Don’t make me drag you out of bed.”
Aurora groaned, rolling away from her.
Star waited until her sister managed to keep them open for longer than three seconds. Only then did she leave.
Back in the kitchen, she poured the eggs into the pan and stirred them until soft folds formed. Toast went down next. Then the coffee pot started—not for her or the twins, but for Gran and Pop, who would be up in about an hour and grateful for it.
Three bags. Same thing in each.
PB&J, an orange, chips, and a chocolate granola bar.
She finished just as Atlas and Aurora wandered into the kitchen.
Atlas looked awake enough to function. Aurora looked like she was still negotiating with death.
The last week of school had them in better spirits than usual. This was their final year of middle school. Next year, they’d be starting high school, and the annual summer festival was right around the corner.
There were rumors about new entertainment this year, though Star wasn’t putting much faith in them. The festival always ran from the last day of school until the county’s summer break ended, and most years it was the same thing—fair food, rodeos, carnival games, rides, and the usual chaos.
“Do you have any work left,” Star asked, taking a bite of eggs, “or are you just hanging out for the rest of the week?”
“I still have a couple assignments to turn in,” Atlas said. “I asked for extra credit too.”
Aurora made a face. “I finished all my work. I’m not doing extra.”
That about summed them up.
Atlas was always chasing perfection. Aurora was smart too, just less interested in making life harder than it needed to be.
Star hummed. “That’s good.”
She glanced at her watch.
She put her plate in the sink and headed for the front door, slipping into her shoes.
“Have a good day. Don’t miss the bus.”
The bus came at 7:30. She felt bad she couldn’t see them off herself, but Gran and Pop would be awake by then. Besides, someone needed to make sure Aurora didn’t crawl back into bed the second Star left.
The drive in was its own quiet ritual.
Windows cracked. Morning air cutting through the stale sleep still clinging to her. The radio stayed on whatever rock station came through first, fading in and out whenever she hit a dead zone. It filled the space between home and work, between who she was there and who she had to be for the next eight hours.
By the time she turned off the main road, gravel crunched beneath her tires in a sound she knew by heart.
The shop came into view—large, industrial, already awake. Doors open. Trucks backed in. Heat shimmering faintly off the lot even though the day had barely started.
She parked, shut off the engine, and sat for one brief second in the silence.
The smell hit immediately.
Hot metal. Oil. Dust. Concrete. The faint burnt edge of yesterday’s work still caught in the ventilation.
It wasn’t supposed to be.
Inside, the shift was already forming. Someone sorted tools at a bench. Someone else leaned over a clipboard, half-reading, half-awake. A grinder sparked in the back and stopped. Lockers opened. Boots hit concrete. Helmets were set down and picked up again.
She got a few nods before anyone spoke.
No real conversations yet. Everyone was still putting themselves together.
Star answered the same way, simple and familiar, then put her things away and changed into gear. Gloves. Jacket. Helmet. Each piece settled over her like part of another version of herself.
Workers gathered around the board while supervisors handed out the week’s schedule. Coffee steamed in paper cups. A few people were already complaining about the heat.
Then she saw the bold lettering near the top.
A few whistles sounded from the group.
“Heard they’re bringing in something big this year.”
“My kids won’t stop talking about it.”
“Something about a circus.”
Star barely listened. Every year someone claimed the festival was getting bigger. Every year it ended up mostly the same.
Still, the work listed beneath the assignment caught her attention.
Temporary stages. Ride platforms. Safety railings. Support structures.
An hour later, she and the rest of the crew drove through the fairground gates.
The place always looked strange empty.
No music. No lights. No crowds. Just open fields and half-finished attractions scattered across the property. Forklifts moved between stacks of materials. Flatbeds unloaded steel beams and equipment. Workers in reflective vests crossed in every direction.
The whole place looked like a machine still being put together.
They got to work immediately.
Small jobs first. Damaged brackets from last year’s attractions. Old welds that needed grinding down. Replacement pieces. Railings.
Nothing glamorous. Nothing anyone would notice once the festival opened.
A bad bracket became a failed support. A weak joint became a problem waiting to happen.
Details decided everything.
When Star moved on to one of the larger projects—a new elevated viewing platform near the center of the grounds—the world narrowed.
Heat hissing in her ears.
Before the first bead was even laid, she could already see the finished structure in her mind.
Doing exactly what it was meant to do.
Her mother’s voice settled somewhere in the back of her head.
Keep focus. Decide what you want the outcome to be. Let it live in you before it exists outside you.
Not just a weld. Not just a frame. Not just another repair.
Something that held weight. Something that didn’t fail under pressure.
The arc snapped bright. Heat pushed against her sleeves and collar. Sweat gathered under her gear. Her wrist adjusted on instinct, torch speed finding its rhythm as the bead formed beneath her hand.
Around her, the world faded in and out.
A grinder starting up. Someone calling for a tool. Laughter from somewhere behind her. A joke she only half-heard.
None of it mattered once she was in the zone.
There was no room for anything that didn’t belong to the work.
Not every day gave her that kind of focus. Some days, she still worked well enough, but the rhythm didn’t come naturally. She had to check more, correct more, think through every step instead of letting her hands lead.
Then there were days like this, where everything clicked.
The heat, noise, pressure, and fatigue all fell away until there was only the work and the shape it was meant to take.
On those days, welding became something more than joining metal.
It felt like building something that had been waiting to exist.
When she finally lifted her helmet, blinking back into the normal world, the same quiet thought always waited beneath the exhaustion.
Whatever she built would hold.
Disclaimer: This work is entirely fictional. While it features ATEEZ as characters, the events, personalities, relationships, dialogue, and settings depicted are works of fiction and are not intended to represent or reflect the real members or real-life events.
