We last found Red with Issi, a star whistle,

and a promise.

The Ti Tayme left Earth on 18MAR 2204. Today was now 10SEP 2404.

Apriori Station—its spindly docking arms shifting warily—like spider legs probing the strands of an unseen web, suspended above Talamh Ru, loomed intricate yet ominous, moving with an unsettling sentience.

For the first time, Ti Tayme was behind her. And soon, so would be Apriori Station.

Apriori was a sight to behold, a marvel of engineering. Its metal corridors whispered under shifting gravity. Through the observation windows, Talamh Ru shone like a jewel in the dark, its rust-red surface glowing dimly under the light of its star.

Red felt the pull of the planet beneath her feet, a peculiar gravity that anchored her while her thoughts wandered freely.

“...and shuttles to Talamh Ru will commence immediately.” It was the last AI ship directive most would hear.

Red, being a ‘Finn’, would be one of the first to leave Ti Tayme. Naturally, Magnus Alin Finn and his family would depart before most others. Zophia knew who would be last to leave: the two stasis vaults, tucked in shadow, waiting in the dark.

Red adjusted her sling pack. EchoHub safely secured on her back.

A buzz. No, a hum. A flicker of green. Echo?

She had to quit imagining it would come back to life. She would bring it back to life soon enough.

Some way.

She glanced at her wrist, her thumb brushing her imaginary tattoo. The memory of the threads pulsing through space filled her chest with something new. Maybe the Ancient Star Wanderer never left. Maybe it’s been waiting for someone to listen.

For so long, Red had felt tethered to her family, her name, her past. But now, standing on the edge of a new world, she realized the stars weren’t something to leave behind—they were something to carry with her.

Two hundred years from Earth. Red might go there someday—if the stars gave her a reason. But that was a mystery for her future self to solve. Right now, she was exactly where she should be. Summoned by the stars.

As Red stepped onto the station, she whispered her new mantra, “Speak to me.”

She and an Ancient Star Wanderer shared the same words. Speak to me.

Did they share more?

Did her mother understand those words?

It didn’t matter at this moment. This was only the beginning.

She would keep her promise to the stars—and to herself.

A breath. A heartbeat. A flicker of green.

The stars blinked, one by one, as if sealing her vow.

The sprawling docking station, Apriori, was one of GAP’s pride-worthy accomplishments. Built by skeleton terraforming and satellite crews in record time. Kudos to GAP, the Galactic Alliance Polit. And kudos to Poppy. For it was after years of his solid research, that Alin Aldus Finn had single-handedly convinced GAP to make Kepler 452-b their most significant exoplanet settlement to date. Such was Poppy’s dedication.

Kepler 452-b, now known as ‘Talamh Ru,’ was a sought-after destination for those aspiring to be the pioneers of a fresh world. The decision to rename their newfound home marked a significant milestone for the Origins. Magnus Finn himself had proposed the name ‘Talamh Rua,’—old Irish for ‘Red Earth.’ Origins embraced it unanimously, though they quietly dropped the final ‘a.’

GAP funded the project, but whispers among the crew suggested something more cunning than exploration and colonization. Talamh Ru was more than just a place to reside; it was a trial, a testing ground for dominance. An experiment.

Even amidst the bustling activity on the station, Zophia couldn’t shake the feeling of manipulation from a distance. Her gaze stretched toward the far end of the station—where shadows kept their secrets in stasis.

Few knew of the pods, or who their occupants might be. Even fewer would understand what their awakening would mean. Zophia knew. She had sensed it from the beginning—but now she knew. And the weight of that knowledge pressed heavily on her shoulders. Whether she ever would tell Jayla—had yet to be decided.

Alin Aldus Finn knew only what he had to know. He had high hopes for Talamh Ru and was a champion for the Origins, the GenOnes, and whatever was to come.

But that was Poppy’s story.

Red looked at her family walking ahead of her—holding longest on her mother—then back at the station stretching out into the unknown.

She took a deep breath and stepped out of the Finn family shadow.

Into her own light.

This is where I begin.

The End

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Thank you so much for reading.

And so begins the story. Red returns as ‘Jayla’ in World beyond the Song, still being weaved in the cosmos …

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Red sprinted toward the gigantic windows and stopped in time to stand next to her king-sized friend.

“What was that tune you were humming yesterday?” she asked.

Issi chuckled, revealing, “Just a little something passed down from an ‘Ancient Star Wanderer’—or so they say.” Issi’s voice dropped slightly, as if letting her in on a secret. “They say the Wanderer still drifts, star to star, galaxy to galaxy. Through all of time. Through all of space. Traveling the universe and beyond.”

Her eyes widened as she gasped, “Beyond?”

“So they say.” Issi smiled. “Sometimes, lass … you just have to believe.

And sometimes, you don't.”

“Do you believe, Issi?”

He bent down close and whispered near Red’s ear. “In the Ancient Star Wanderer?” he asked. “Aye, lass. I do.”

Then he regaled her with a glimpse of his past. “My grandda was a star watcher like his father before him, and I remember the day he gave me this star whistle.”

He pulled the mystical flute from his pouch, inspiring Red to gawk.

“…Grandda placed a firm hand on my shoulder and said, ‘You’ve got the gift to hear the songs. Just remember it’s not about listening with your ears—it’s about listening with your heart,’ and then he gave me this whistle.”

Issi looked to Red and repeated, “It’s about listening with your heart, lass.”

Red was spellbound by Issi’s story—passed down through time and now across space.

Issi raised the flute to his lips, and his fingers effortlessly found the vertical holes, a skill ingrained in him since childhood in the ancient Highlands.

A lone, clear note echoed in the hauntingly quiet moment—it seemed as though even the stars themselves paused to listen. The single note grew into a slow, wistful melody, and after a few whistle-only verses, Issi brought forward the shanty words, steady and enchanting:

Oh, weave the stars and pull them near, threads that hum, I’ll lend an ear.

Speak to me across the dark, guide me homeward, leave your mark…

The melody swelled, wrapping the observation deck in something weightless and ancient. Red felt it lift her, pull her forward—like a tide rolling in.

She pressed her hand against the invisible glass.

A magnetic pulse surged within her—

as if the threads were reaching back.

Purple, blue, gold—colors twirled in time with the tune.

A warmth bloomed in her chest, like breath turned into light.

Still as new horizons gleam, hear my call and make me seen.

The threads shimmered, pulsed. She blinked. Expected them to vanish.

They didn’t.

Her heart thundered.

Not for just what she saw—

but at what saw her.

They weren’t just moving.

They were speaking.

She turned to Issi, her voice hushed as if breaching a sacred sermon. “Do you see them?”

Issi twinkled as he pulled the flute from his lips and reached inside his pouch once more. Out came another star whistle. His smile was mystical, angelic, just like the sound of the flute.

“Sometimes, lass, you just have to believe,” Issi murmured, eyes sparkling. He twirled the star whistle between his fingers before offering it to her.

“Been waiting for someone who listens right. Figured that might be you.”

Red’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes grew wide, glistening as she took the whistle. Its weight was enormous—not in size, but in meaning. As if born to the task, she pressed the flute between her lips, but stopped.

The star whistle was more than a toy.

Red hugged the star whistle. Her thoughts flickered to Echo. She swayed with the strands of threads boldly weaving before her and traced the now-familiar shapes onto the underside of her wrist as if compelled. She imagined it would become her first tattoo.

She found herself not only linked to the threads but now to the symbols themselves—whatever their meanings were.

Even though the symbols were unfamiliar in any previous context, they seemed strangely familiar. She made a mental note to keep an eye out for them elsewhere. Mum—she had seen these too. But would she ever ask her about them? She had been dismissed too many times.

Red pressed against the glass, as if drawn there by an invisible force.

“I knew it,” she whispered. “I knew you were out there.”

And that was all Red had to know at that moment.

The moment stretched, heavy and expectant. The stars pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

She felt something shift behind her. A whisper of breath. A shift in the air.

Peeking around the corner of the alcove, Mum had been watching.

Zophia lingered in the shadows, soft eyes fixed on her youngest daughter. She had come here to remember, and to inspect the stasis vaults on the lower deck, but she remembered…and now she couldn’t look away.

Red’s small hands pressed against the glass, her face illuminated with wonder, sparked deep emotion within Zophia. Instinctively, she raised her own hand, reaching for the glass—but hesitated, stopping herself.

What was she truly reaching for?

Memories flickered, faint and distant, of a little girl staring at the same stars, her heart once filled with dreams that had long since faded. She clenched her fists, pushing the thoughts away. She didn’t have to crush her dreams.

But she had. And at times—maybe even now—she regretted it. She had buried her dreams so long, they’d become fossils. But watching Red, she realized—some bones still sing when touched by light.

Unaware of her mother’s lurking, Red was immersed in the Ancient Star

Wanderer’s words—weave the stars and pull them near. Baptized.

She gently circled her imagined tattoo—a spiral embraced by gentle waves—as she peered back out toward space.

There—where the threads gave way to Mirach, pointing to Andromeda. The place she sensed mattered most.

“If you’re out there, I’ll find you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

The symbols pulsed, a slow rhythm, as if waiting.

Not if.

She pressed a hand to the glass, inhaled.

“When I find you,” she whispered, “I will not let you be lost again.”

The stars pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
And for the first time, they were listening back.

Next: The final episode. Episode 12—This is Where I begin

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Still pacing. Agitated.

Zophia crossed her sitting room—back and forth, back and forth. She couldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t sleep—not until she understood. She sat in the Bergère. Immediately sprang up.

Not ready.

Not ready to face what the universe had shown her.

She paced.

She had seen it before.

She had heard it before.

Something was trying to break through. Break her. She would not be broken. Not again.

What cost would knowing bear? How could she not know? How could she protect her daughter?

Jayla.

She sat…and faced it.

The loss of her unborn children. That was the trigger.

The stasis vault—

Not stasis. Not healing.

Dissection.

They cut her open. Took everything.

Her call to the stars. Their call back.

It threatened them, so they took it. Buried it.

Then she buried it—forced to.

But even as it tried to peek back through, she buried it. Stuffed it deeper and deeper. She did. Her own survival instinct. Zophia trembled. Her heart and soul on the verge of shattering into a thousand bloody pieces—never to be whole again.

They stole it from her. It was hers. She saw it. She heard it. It was hers. And they stole it. Paranoia. Unearned fear. Gurdjieff. It had been his idea. He stole her.

I was just a child…She started to crumble.

She was just a child…She couldn’t get it back—any of it.

Altered memories—no longer whispers. No longer rumors. The blade. The cold.

The voices telling her it was necessary. That it would make her better. She gasped. Nearly doubled over. The pressure in her chest—

It was real.

It wasn’t just GAP paranoia.

They’d taken something else.

Something Jayla had too.

She’d be damned if they took it from Jayla.

The neural archives hummed again.

GAP was watching.

“She knows.”

“She thinks she knows.”

“Should we flag it?”

Silence.

“Yes.”

Pause.

“But monitor more closely. She can’t possibly go that deep.”

GAP would not allow it.

When the door next swooshed open, it startled Red from a short but deep sleep and to a too-early morning. What startled her most was that there stood Mum.

“Your father’s daughter. Clearly,” Zophia said as she gauged the unslept-in bed.

“Fix your hair and wash your face. I’ll wait.”

She was not stern, just insistent…and confounded.

“Mum?”

“I haven’t got all day, Jayla.” Zophia actually had all the time she wanted and more. Yet, she had nothing—nothing more than purpose.

“Yes, Mum. Sorry, Mum.” Red combed fingers through her hair as she tried to guess what time it was. She looked at her mother differently this morning. Perplexed. But she had her own purpose for the day. How could she best please Mum? Get on her good side? Ungrounded?

Zophia studied her daughter. They shared something. But it wasn’t just the stars.

What was it?

Innocence is a luxury. Had Zophia ever been innocent?

“That’s good enough; let’s go.”

Although Mum seemed impatient, Red detected it was not her usual impatience. But then Red was no longer certain of what or who her usual mother was. Curious.

Red scurried behind Mum, and checked back over her shoulder, sighing relief as the hoodie still hid her digipad and the goggles. She was now free to skip down the hall behind her mother.

As they neared the gathering pod…

“Wait,” Red stopped. “Can I…”

“No. Let’s go.”

…Past the gathering pod, past the kitchen, and out the Finn family module. Zophia’s pace was swift, but Red kept up, not about to show signs of failure—not to Mum.

As they approached the hidden door of the AOD, she slowed with a sense of—not fear, but definitely suspicion. She desperately wanted to be here. But couldn’t believe her mother brought her here.

Why?

She considered running away from a trap, but too late. The door swooshed open and there stood Issi, to greet Mum, and happily surprised to welcome Red as well.

“Mornin,’ ma’am,” he said to Zophia and passed a clandestine wink to Red.

“Master Beathan,” Zophia said, “our wayward Jayla may have left something behind yesterday. Do you mind tending to her while I take care of something else?”

Red flinched first; shrunk next. Apprehensive and even more curious as to why her mother had really come here. And why she chose to bring her along.

“Of course, ma’am,” Issi said.

Zophia momentarily lingered as she logged her daughter’s confusion. If she wanted to comfort Red, she didn’t know how to go about it—awkward. She placed her gloved hands on Jayla’s shoulders and almost softly turned her toward her.

“My willful daughter.”

She sighed, the corner of her mouth twitching with something almost like…a smile.

Almost.

“...”

She stopped from saying more; she suddenly couldn’t. Instead, she just squeezed the small shoulders lightly, then about-faced and disappeared into a private nook.

Red, or ‘Jayla’, could not place the expression on Mum’s face as she walked away; she had never seen it before. But she forgot it as soon as Issi motioned for her.

Observer 1: “The daughter’s eyes are opening.”

Observer 2: “Then it’s time we begin.”

Observer 1 (after a pause): “Should we notify the Speaker?”

Observer 2: “Not yet. Let’s see if she reaches the threshold.”

Next: Episode 11—Ancient Star Wanderer

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Last time, we met Zophia …

on the lower decks. And then, it was her turn to gaze through the AR goggles.

Red lay atop her bed, staring at the nothingness above. The family module’s sterile air clung to her skin—dry, flat, a poor substitute for the AOD’s crisp expanse. Here, the walls were hostile, pressing in too close.

She couldn't be any more grounded than she was already, but her careless actions had gotten Tera grounded as well. Now they were both trapped inside until docking. Tera would never talk to her again.

In and out she breathed, slow, controlled, purposeful. And when she was ready to look beyond her predicament, she gently pressed her thumbs near the inside corners of her eyes. She concentrated on the green lights that had flashed on EchoHub. That happened, didn’t it? The ethereal threads weaving through space—so lifelike through the AR goggles. Yes, they were there. Red needed to see more.

Poppy had mentioned nothing about repairing EchoHub and who knew what Mum did with the goggles? Her eyes darted beneath closed lids, searching for some way to untangle reality from wishful thinking.

When the door swiftly opened, her frantic search ended, and a hooded figure approached, shooshing for her to be quiet.

Tera! Red muffled a delighted squeal. “What are you doing? Mum’s going to blast us.”

Tera giggled, then reached behind her and revealed the goggles. “But, how? Why?”

Not important.

“Shhh! Or Mum really will blast us.” Tera patted Red’s head, the same endearing way Poppy always did.

With that, Red couldn’t help but wrap her arms around her big sister and choke back tears.

Tera understood Red’s emotional response, kind of. If anything, she was jealous that Red stayed true to her dreams. Red had always been the brave one.

“I get it,” Tera said. “I used to have stupid dreams, too.”

She hesitated. The words were too small for what she wanted to say.

She sighed, taking Red’s hands in hers. “Look, just don’t let anyone make you feel stupid for wanting something. Not Mum. Not anyone.”

Red swallowed hard.

Tera tousled Red’s curls, her fingers lingering for a moment, as if memorizing the feeling of someone who still dared to believe. “I don’t get how you do it,” she murmured, shaking her head. “You don’t just believe—you make others believe.”

“Go chase your stars.” She handed Red the goggles. “Just don't get caught.”

The way she said it, tender yet hoping to be fierce, made Red’s chest tighten. She wanted to say something back—something profound—but the words would not come.

Red wouldn’t be caught by Mum because she planned to avoid Mum altogether. She would stay grounded in her room, where she could review the recordings from the goggles without judgment.

Red had always assumed Mum didn’t care about the stars. But now…something told her that might not be true. Regardless, she needed Mum to understand her, though she didn’t know why. It wasn’t enough for Poppy to understand. Some crazy notion—connection?—had her convinced it was Mum who she needed—and wanted—on her side. But that would have to be sorted out another time. There were now less than thirty-six hours to docking.

Red transferred the goggle recordings to her personal workstation. She expected a short recording. Instead, the file was enormous—far too large for how little time she’d had on the observation deck. She locked her door and stuffed in her earbuds. Turned up the audio as loud as tolerable. All she had to do now was remember to go to dinner.

To avoid suspicion.

Red reviewed the recording over and over again—each time finding just a little more to take note of. Nagged by something unclear as she cataloged every nuance. Hours seemed to fly. She fast-forwarded. Rewinded. Completely immersed in the extraordinary images—the audio components were more difficult to tease out. She concentrated on the threads and their evocative motion. But wait!

What was this?

At the end of this latest play-through, she realized—the timestamp.

Someone else had worn the goggles.

On the AOD.

Not Tera.

Her bedroom pod suddenly burst with the need to push deeper, further, not only to understand the threads, but…Mum. Had she and Mum been woven together in the stars all along?

Red’s search for the truth burned louder now—unquieted, palpable.

Time slipped further away—unnoticed until a chime reminded her that dinner would be ready in fifteen minutes. She had no choice.

At the dinner table, Red slid into the seat beside Tera. Above the table, her sister ignored her entirely, but beneath it, Tera’s knee nudged hers, a silent reassurance that made Red stifle a grin. But her thoughts—too practiced at returning—found their way back to Mum.

Across the table, Zophia’s inspection swept over the family like a watchtower, missing nothing. Her eyes locked onto Red’s for a fleeting second. The two were each considering the AR goggles, both in different ways, both for different reasons. Perhaps a shared future consequence. Red diverted first, the new vision of her mother threatening to wriggle free.

She picked at her food. Refusing to look up. Waited.

The moment the meal ended, she was already shifting in her seat, her heartbeat knocking like the ship’s engine.

A scrape of her chair. A slow exhale. Then—movement.

By the time anyone noticed, she was already gone. Except Zophia.

Zophia noticed.

The door to her pod slid shut with a satisfying hiss. Silence. Finally.

Red exhaled, pressing her forehead to the cool metal wall, waiting for the tension to drain from her muscles. It didn’t.

She pulled the goggles free and slid into her chair, hands moving fast to give her space. Rebooted the monitor—once more from the beginning. The ‘ending’ would have to wait. She would deal with that another time. Now she needed to piece together the threads. But it would be naïve to think she could separate them from her mother.

After umpteen times of deliberate replay, the hitch that had been sitting on the brink of discovery revealed itself. The ultra-slowed playback allowed her to finally believe what she was seeing. The threads had not been simply moving in a playful or chaotic response. They weaved with repeated intent—throbbing with an alien ethos.

Had her mother seen this? Did she know?

Was she getting ahead of herself?

As Red carefully adjusted the playback speed, a tingling throughout raised her hairs, feeling as if her fingertips were in contact with some hidden significance that lay within the enigmatic display. A message? Patterns began to manifest. Yes. Repeated symbols.

Didn’t that suggest language? Communication?

Excitement tangled with something further unsettling—a whisper of something she couldn’t quite name. The pattern wasn’t just beguiling. It was deliberate. Like something was waiting.

Wait. She was getting ahead of herself.

She rubbed her eyes, blinking away fatigue, and sketched what she saw. The patterns weren’t just clearer now.

They were coalescing. Becoming.

No—this wasn’t just coincidence. The patterns weren’t just clearer. They were becoming.

Then—

The monitor flashed obnoxiously on and off. Someone was at her door.

“Jayla?”

Red sighed. A frustrated sigh. Even though it was Poppy. She quickly switched off the monitor and tossed a hoodie over the digipad. She was nowhere near ready to share her discovery with anyone—not even Poppy. Not before she solved it. Not until she was sure it was even a discovery. Not until…

Red pressed the unlock button, and the door swooshed open. “Hi, Poppy,” she said—the first time ever hoping he wouldn’t stay long.

“How are you doing, little one?” An introduction to guilt. “I’m sorry I haven’t had time to fix Echo. Maybe once we dock.” But probably not. The Magnus would be even more busy on Talamh Ru. But what else could he say?

“It’s okay, Poppy.” Red looked at her feet. Truth was she understood but was still disappointed. She shot a glance behind her ensuring the monitor screen remained dark.

Then changed to a subject she had a mild interest in.

“Do you think Mum will let me go to the bubble window tomorrow?”

“In the gathering pod? I don't see why not,” he said as he bent down closer to her. “I know Mum’s been tense lately. She’s just a little excited about our new home.”

A less-than truth; Mum was always tense.

“You’re excited, too, right?” he asked.

“I guess. But I’ll miss space.”

“Little one, space will always be there for you. I promise.” And that was a real truth.

“Well, I’ve got work to do, kiddo.” Poppy patted her head and walked away.

Also a real truth.

But for once Red was okay with the clipped visit.

She spent the next several hours ‘doodling’ and listening until she snuggled against the digipad and drifted off to sleep.

The audio signals of the AR goggle recording crackled above her, weaving in and out of the night’s stillness. She hadn’t noticed it yet—not fully—but beneath the static, something else pulsed. Also a pattern. Also rhythm.

Barely audible clicks…or were they drumbeats?

Next: Episode 10—The Deepest Cut

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Last time …

Red lost the AR goggles while tangling with her mother … someone who should not be tangled with.

She paced—like a caged wild cougar—back and forth, turning the goggles over and over and over in her trembling hands. Yes, Zophia’s hands trembled. Her space in the AOD, her private alcove, the secret hovolator to the lower decks, to Section Twelve. GAP couldn’t see her here.

But did that really mean she was safe? Could she ever be safe? Maybe—if she handed the goggles over. Maybe—if she would let them do to Red what they had done to her.

A tear struggled to be free. It ran over the smooth iron-clad cheek and dropped from the face of sink or swim. Zophia had sunk as far as she could. Was she to drown her daughter?

She crept to the alcove’s edge and peered toward Issi’s station. Still there. What would he say? Foolish. Of course, she knew what he would say. She knew less about Issi than she knew about his ancestors and the tale of the Ancient Star Wanderer.

But why? She couldn’t remember. No. She couldn’t risk Issi. He would protect Jayla, if it came to that.

She turned and summoned the hovolator. Section Twelve. The stasis vaults still hiccupped and hissed. She clung to the shadows and moved as close as she dare.

Then—

She dared further. No sign of the wobbly technician. Nor should there be at this hour. She entered the chamber itself. She slid between the Gurdjieff pod and the Drayon pod, slowly, carefully. She looked in at the face of Gurdjieff. Still. Sunken. Seeming to search for breath. Not from her. Not ever again. She ran her free hand along the cool glass, and something hummed, sizzled, no … vibrated.

The goggles.

The goggles reacting to Gurdjieff? Or the pod?

She turned around and ran her hand along the bubble above Drayon. The goggles were silent. Back to Gurdjieff and the vibration resumed.

She gasped—jerked her hand back. A cold ripple surged through her, like a whisper trying to crawl under her skin. Her breath stalled. Was she imagining this? Was the pod responding? Was Gurdjieff?

“Ma’am?”

She startled, then composed instantly. She had trained for this—for anything. Even this. “Was there another power surge?”

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he tried to answer her presence. Zophia Finn had never been in the lower decks this late. Why was she here now? What had he done wrong? “No. No, ma’am. Not that I know of.” He wiped his brow with a well-used kerchief. “Everything remains stable.”

“Good,” she hissed. She turned, and her heels snapped before deliberately, slowly exiting. Her poise was restored—temporarily. She ignored the technician and tucked the goggles out of view.

Darting thoughts. Teasing glimpses. More questions. All accompanied her on the hovolator back up to her private alcove. The goggles, still. Quiet.

Peeking around the corner again, she looked for Issi. No one. The AOD was empty. Space before her was not. She turned the goggles over and over in her hands as she approached the massive aluminum glass barrier. Her fingers trembled over the record button. No. She shouldn’t.

She pressed it anyway.

The goggles slid into place.

It was all too clear.

She had been here before.

She bent. Clutched her stomach.

She had seen these symbols before.

A memory stirred—but not as her own. As if borrowed from something ancient. Or stolen.

Is this what Red had been seeing?

She stumbled. Faint.

Weakened.

Awake.

Next: Episode 9—Patterns Manifest

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Last we saw Red …

… she was witnessing a ‘blurred reality’ … the threads of her destiny? Then something snapped and ‘there stood Mum.’

Stoic. Comely. Auburn hair striking against porcelain skin, lit by feral green eyes. Zophia Lilith Dorsett had once looked to the stars—though those memories had been taken from her. She couldn’t recall. Everything. Yet.

Now, she clung to the safety—no, necessity—of order. Unable to dissuade her daughter from the danger she was reaching for.

Her husband had always coddled Red, but Zophia didn’t believe in coddling, especially Red. Coddling was false hope.

The truth, though, was Red had never even been part of the plan—the ‘baby farm,’ as it had become known—she just happened and Zophia was just tired.

Could anyone really blame her?

She’d signed on to create life—not necessarily raise it.

After four sons and eight daughters, Zophia had been one of Ti Tayme’s top producers—yet no one dared mention her failures: a miscarriage and a separate involuntary termination—two sets of twins—four children unnamed and unheld.

Tired? Yes. But worried? Definitely.

As she watched Red reaching for the stars, Zophia wondered if she had ever been as fearless, as foolish. But the memory, if it existed, slipped away before she could claim it.

There was never a need to dawdle.

She scowled at Issi, then advanced toward her youngest, the unexpected one.

The click of her heels sliced through the silence, sharp as glass cracking under pressure. An unnatural chill seemed to follow Zophia into the immense hall, chasing away any warmth and smothering the young stargazer.

Red watched, struggling to stay upright.

Issi restrained his instinct to leap forward and save the girl.

“Well, little Miss Something, how did you manage this?”

As Zophia sauntered closer, her eyes darted below. Section Twelve. Only a flicker before returning to Red.

Unbeknownst to Red, her mother came to the AOD nearly every morning. It was just bad luck to find her here today.

Red glanced toward Issi, wondering if she had been betrayed.

Issi shrugged his shoulders, but the awkward turn of his lips hinted at some taste of guilt. He should have warned Red perhaps, but it seems even Magnus Finn was unaware of his wife’s early morning whereabouts. He made no mention.

Issi was unclear why Zophia regularly requested a certain private space in the AOD, but he respected her privacy … even when he heard her muffled sorrow. Finney had alerted him to his daughter’s likely arrival that morning and his only instruction was to keep Red safe.

Alin Finn had simply presumed Red would make a second run at the AOD, but had zero ideas why his wife, Zophia, would ever appear there.

Red glanced at her mother through the augmented goggles.

She looked like a creature rudely disturbed from hibernation.

She wasn’t sure what she had ever done to fall from her mother’s grace—but had she ever been there to begin with?

What would it take for Mum to understand?

Red wanted to run.

“Quite brazen, even for you, Jayla,” Zophia said as she clicked across the echoing lumina.

She spun her head to the curator. “You should have called me.”

Issi dropped his eyes, then cleared his throat gruffly before meeting Zophia’s admonishing glare. “Aye. She’s a curious bairn, ma’am.” He suspected Zophia may have reason to be harsh, but his tone remained firm. “Not every day you see a spark like that one, aye?”

Zophia’s eyes narrowed into seething slits as Issi met her with practiced ease. He was accustomed to weathering storms and figured Madam Finn was as well.

Sneaking a look at Red, he offered a reassuring smile, silently communicating, “Don’t give up, lass.”

Zophia huffed in agitation and turned to Red, who dodged her initial capture. It took Zophia a second lunge to grab her, and this time there was no wriggling free.

Red found herself pinned under her mother’s contempt.

“You don’t listen!” Zophia’s voice cracked, frustration laced with something raw.

“Why do you keep chasing this?”

Whatever Red was chasing, Zophia was running from.

The question hung between them. Too late to take back.

Her voice dropped, quieter now.

“There’s nothing out there but disappointment.”

A wistful spark from her eyes revealed she indeed knew the ‘why’ of Jayla's behavior.

She choked away her own childhood fragments.

Zophia wanted nothing more than to run away herself, but she couldn’t afford any amount of vulnerability.

She reached for the goggles on Red’s head.

Carefully—as if afraid they might break.

As if Red, herself, might break.

She hesitated too long. Her fingers clenched around the goggles—too tightly, for too long. They felt heavier than they should have, like something was pushing back. Red’s fragile dreams? Her own forgotten ones?

Her grip faltered.

For a single moment, she considered giving the goggles back. Letting Red keep this one thing.

But no. That was too dangerous.

Zophia steadied her grip, forcing her fingers to curl tighter.

Dreams. Shattered. Stolen.

Her voice, when it finally came, was almost too soft. Too careful.

“Nonsense.”

Red’s hands shot forward as her mother slid the goggles from her head, and there she held. For the tiniest glint, she thought she saw something in her mother, something those feral eyes were holding. The look either vanished, or was too unfamiliar for Red to understand. She felt her fingers brush against the prismatic lenses, but failed to grasp them.

“No! Mum, please!”

The words shot out, raw and desperate.

But the goggles were already gone.

Red’s hands clenched into fists, shaking. Her vision blurred. She couldn’t let the tears come. Not in front of Mum.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “You never do.”

Zophia clenched her jaw. She wasn’t here. She had drifted to another moment.

She was with a girl—no … she was the girl.

A voice—hers. I’ll find you.

The present yanked her back. The glint of the AR goggles in her daughter’s grip—the same reckless hunger, the same desperate hope she had once carried?

Impossible.

She opened her mouth. Stopped.

Red’s eyes were wide, desperate. Expecting … something else.

The words slipped out, colder than Zophia meant.

“You know nothing about loss.”

Regret flickered at the edges of her breath.

Too late. Too late.

She grabbed Red’s wrist and pulled her away.

The chill of her mother’s touch was no match for the cold of the cosmos. What chance did a child stand?

As the sliding door sealed away the stars, Red’s anguished plea to them, the voice among the stars, hung like a fragile echo.

“Please don’t leave me.”

And for a half a heartbeat, Zophia stalled. She fired a searching glance through the aluminum panes, then as quickly realized her foolishness. Red’s words called her back. Pierced her defenses and stirred something long buried.

Her daughter’s outstretched hand, so small, so desperate.

For that instant, it wasn’t Red’s hand.

It was her own—reaching for stars that had burned her long ago.

Next: Episode 8—The Hidden Chamber

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We left Red …

… standing near towering panes of cold aluminum glass on the Advanced Observation Deck … feeling that someone was out there … beyond the glass.

The ship’s low hum thrummed heavier here in the AOD. It was as if the ship itself was holding its breath. Then, without warning, a twinge of dizziness swept over her. Red stepped back with a slight falter that caught the curator’s watchful eye.

He called to her, “Ship’s been a wee bumpy of late. Power surges and all.” He chuckled. “Probably nothing. Ships like this always hum, don't they?”

Red beamed toward someone who already felt like a new friend. The GingySAS squelched her temporary unease and allowed her to return full force to the penetrating stillness before her.

A grander display than she could have ever dreamed. Yet, she felt suddenly small—too small. She trembled at the disquiet.

What if they don’t see me? Hear me?

Beyond the crystal barrier, the universe stretched into a canvas of endless stars and shadows. The lulling drone of the ship faded, and she was left soul-to-soul with the vastness of space and a soft, unshakable resolve in her voice.

“Hear me.”

“I can keep you safe.”

As Red whispered her offer, her vow, she momentarily re-lived Echo’s green flash and reimagined it to be shattered pieces of an ancient tablet—a message—somehow meant for her to piece together. Her promise lingered in the void, then circled back—settling inside her like it had found its home. Her voice may have been small, but those words carried a weight that would follow her for years. Someday, she would find a way to keep her promise—

To them. And to herself.

Her connection to the unreachable expanse was stronger than ever before, though her ponders would not yet let her free.

How did we grow so far apart?

Didn’t we all come from stardust?

If we could grow apart, couldn’t we just grow back together again?

From a distance, Issi ached as he watched the exchange between Red and the stars. His eyes glistened. Never before had he seen such a bright star.

Red reined in her philosophical meander and battened down for business.

Tick-tock.

On went the goggles, and the recordings began. But talk about getting lost in awe …

The expanse before her burst into wild wisps of violet, cobalt, and gold—and a thousand other colors. Vaporous? Or something tangible? Delicate as spider silk, spinning among the stars.

The silky threads glowed and gyrated, pulsing like breath in the dark. But they didn’t just drift—they responded. It was as if they were waiting for Red to finish a sentence that they had started.

Like a language. Patterns waiting to be read.

The threads continued to dance and drum—stirring something deep inside her.

As Red watched, the sheer magnitude of awe overwhelmed her senses. While her eyes strained to comprehend the endless wonder of space, the winking stars and swirling galaxies captured her essence.

She couldn’t see all of it, but she felt the cosmic dance unfolding around her—the chorus of celestial movement resounded in her very bones. We are stardust.

In that second, the air swept up a faint scent of elemental dust. Red inhaled fully—a subtle reminder of connection and all the mysteries that lay beyond her reach.

For now.

As if summoned to respond, she stretched her fingertips toward the universe, tentative but tingling with expectation. Her hand floated closer to the glass and the threads shimmered with …

Recognition? Acceptance? The moment filled with undulating light, moving in time with her breath. It felt like a whisper—soft and uncertain, but unmistakable.

Suddenly, a ghostly warmth enveloped her.

A delicate caress against her skin.

As if the aluminum panes separating her from space had become permeable—letting the universe breathe on her. The sensation was both comforting and unsettling, blurring the boundaries between her own existence and the presence she sensed.

Reality blurred as Red questioned—had something just reached out to her?

But something else nagged at the edges of her awareness.

A shadow?

A flicker of something out of place?

She brushed it aside—until the threads snapped, recoiled.

“No. Please—don’t go.”

A sharp rupture, as if something unseen had slashed through the delicate strands. A foreign glint flickered in the glass—a predator where none should be.

Red flinched at the unexpected appearance, causing the moment to shatter and disappear.

If she could have, she would have walked into an interstellar corridor, straight into the universe, and never looked back.

But there stood Mum.

Next: Episode 7—Through Her Own Eyes

Looking for a different episode? Find it in the Starwoven Index.

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Pairs best with whispered confessions, late-night Substack posts, and questions that begin with “Do you ever wonder…”

Issi’s Notes: First Pour Reflections

on the Issi Smash™

Aroma:
Warmth rising like a memory—spiced air, honeyed burn, and something bold trying not to weep. (Probably the pomegranate. She’s dramatic.)

Mouthfeel:
Silky rebellion. Like making eye contact with someone you swore you'd never think of again—and liking it.

Flavor Journey:
First sip sings of heat and heartache. Ginger snaps at your hesitation, while pomegranate offers an apology wrapped in poetry. The whiskey? It just sits back and smirks.

Finish:
A long, starlit goodbye that doesn't want to be a goodbye. Lingering notes of late-night choices and unspoken truths.

Pairs well with:
— Cosmic maps
— Unfinished letters
— Anyone brave enough to ask you why you’re really here

—Issik Beathan
Archivist. Bartender of Souls. Occasional heartbreaker.

P.S. If you spill it, the stars won’t mind—but o2 might log it as a chemical hazard.

Red was grounded …

… when we left her last. Grieving a loss, appreciating kind words but finding hope only through stubborn determination.

Red had barely slept last night and woke to only two days left before docking. Sneaking out before anyone else awoke was ‘easy peasy’; explaining her absence later … well, she would deal with that later.

Ti Tayme’s Advanced Observation Deck, the AOD, offered a staggering view of infinity—one reserved for VIPs and scientists. It was one of the few off-limits-to-kids spaces yet challenged by the young adventurer.

Far as she knew, the AOD was off-limits only because of SAS—Space Adaptation Syndrome. Red figured she was ‘adapted’ better than most. Besides, there was no better place to push the limits of the AR goggles. So, game on.

Tick-tock.

Stealth had to be part of the plan. No bright pink jumper. Nothing a ‘child’ would wear. Instead, a sleek silver-toned flextex suit and her fancy iridescent boots. She imagined she looked like a spacewalker—which is exactly what she wanted to look like today. An age-appropriate spacewalker. The prismatic flecks of the AR goggles sparkling around her neck finished off the vibe perfectly, and off she went.

She rode the hovolator to the tenth deck and found the AOD straightaway. She thought. The arrow and the minimal signage suggested she was standing right in front of it. But where was the door? Looked more like a solid wall. She rambled further down the hall, standing a little straighter as someone approached. Obviously an Origin, and the badge said they were ‘official’. Her skin flushed. She rubbed at her throat. Almost short of breath.

“Can I help you?” boomed the voice.

She hoped he wouldn’t ask her name—she wasn’t even sure she could remember it.

“Oh, I was told to meet my father here, I mean at the Advanced Observatory.”

“You mean the Advanced Observation Deck?”

“Yes, this is it, isn’t it? Somewhere here?”

“It is.” His voice dropped and lips flattened. “And who might your father be?”

Red’s stomach lurched. Her throat felt too dry. Should she lie? Poppy had never told her to do that. But this—this was different. This was for Echo. For the green flash. For the voice.

She scrambled for an answer, but before she could—

As if the walls were listening, a secreted entrance opened and out stepped a figure, filling the threshold, broad-shouldered, draped in shadows, and haloed by the distant glow of the stars beyond.

Red’s mouth gaped in fascination. But fear first. Was this it? Was she now to be marched back home?

The crewman saluted. “Master Beathan.”

Red’s breath stilled. She braced for the worst.

“Thank you, Henley. I believe you have found Magnus Finn’s guest.”

Issik Beathan was not a man easily ignored. His presence projected the echo of starlit lochs and wind-battered cliffs. His tartan cloak a living tribute to his Highland ancestry. A silver brooch fastened the cloak at his shoulder, but was no ordinary relic.

The crest of an ancient clan, etched with swirling Celtic knots. A belt, wide and etched with runes, carried a sporran-like pouch, not for coin or keepsakes, but for something more precious. His heirloom kilt fell above trews that tucked into gleaming ghillie boots.

Issik bowed and swept his arm toward the entrance, inviting her into his domain—the Advanced Observation Deck.

Inside, the air thinned. Red stood at the brink of a massively mind-boggling chamber. So deafeningly quiet that it seemed to have swallowed sound itself. Cool light surrounded her and rippled across monumental transparent aluminum walls. Shadows stretched into eternity—surreal and sinuous—as if the void itself were alive.

What would Echo think? The thought surprised her, but not the shiver of passing guilt.

Red drew in a deep breath and submissively approached the center of the universe until she remembered her escort. She turned toward him. A face adorned with deep, complex wrinkles hinting at endless tales of an extraordinary life.

A giant hand reached out.

“Miss Jayla Finn, I presume.” His voice was gigantic.

Red shook his hand but fumbled with her words. “I’m Red,” she said, lifting her chin. “I mean—just Red, sir.”

He chuckled. “I am most humbly, Issik Beathan. Master Curator of our AOD. Welcome.” He fanned large fingers through a soft, friendly beard. “And you shall call me Issi. Just Issi.”

Issi was as warm in his spirit as in his welcome, and Red found great comfort in his agreeableness. “Your father told me you might be dropping by.”

“Poppy?”

“Aye. Finney, I mean Magnus Finn. We go back a wee bit—your pop and me.”

At last, Red dropped her guard.

“So tell me, lass, do you presume to know about space sickness?”

“Oh, yes I do,” she proudly replied. She was liking this ‘Issi’ more and more.

Issi’s gaze swept toward the void. “Some say space talks to those who listen hard enough …”

He let the words settle.

Red blinked up at him. “You’ve heard it too?”

He studied her for a beat longer than expected, then grinned. “To be sure, lass, I have. I’ve heard a great many things.”

Something in his tone made her shiver.

Then Issi winked and let go a glorious chortle.

“Here,” he handed her a piece of GingySAS. “This spicy little sweet will help you with space sickness. If you start to feeling a little tummy-rumbled or dizzy, you chew on a piece, and it’ll set you right.”

Then he cast his unending curiosity back toward the universe.

Red smiled. “I will.” She stuffed the candy into her pocket.

“May I look around?” Not that she initially intended to ask.

Issi’s expression shifted into something more official as he replied, “I’m guessing you know the rules, Miss.”

Red’s face dropped.

Then Issi smiled. “If ye promise to not get wobbly, I think we can have you here for a wee bit. And mind ye, space is bigger than you think. Mind how close you get.” He ended with another wink and bow, then ventured toward his duty station, while humming a rather catchy little tune.

“Thank you, Issi!” she called behind her as she charged toward space.

The only thing keeping Red from stepping into the universe that very second was the unseen barrier of crystal-clear aluminum glass. She slowed and inched her spiffy magneto boots cautiously toward what truly felt like the edge of everything—an infinitely breathtaking forever.

No wonder Echo struggled. That was a big universe out there.

But she would find a way.

The air felt colder near the glass, as if something pressed back from the other side. And an interesting scent lingered, a familiar perfume. No way. Red whiffled away the distraction and trained her focus beyond the window.

The stars weren’t just twinkling—they were watching. Tiny eyes blinking in rhythms she didn’t understand … but somehow felt.

There was no way someone else wasn’t out there.

Next: Episode 6—When the Stars Reached Back

Looking for a different episode? Find it in the Starwoven Index.

Bonus Content: The Issi Smash

Issi is one of my favorite people—but then again, I seem to say that about all my characters, don’t I? Still, he’s earned it. If you find yourself growing fond of him too … welcome to the club.

He’s granted permission (with a flourish, of course) to share one of his signature recipes with you—as long as you’re of appropriate drinking age and promise to sip it under the stars.

You’ll find The Issi Smash in the Starwoven Section Index, along with other companion content—character cards, lore notes, and a few extras for curious minds.

I’ll have another, please.

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⚠️ Mild Spoilers Ahead
This chart contains character ancestry relevant to unfolding events in World Beyond the Song.
Proceed only if you’re ready to glimpse the tangled threads of Jayla’s lineage.

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Last time we crossed paths with Red …

… we saw her kick into action, find a hopeful solution, and realize she had a sibling ally. The AR goggles seemed to hold the key she had been looking for … but did they?

The chatter of siblings gathering for dinner signaled her opportunity to find out. Red shoved the goggles deep into her sling pack and dashed for the exit.

But the door unexpectedly swooshed open. And in stepped Poppy.

“Little one.” He scooped his daughter up into his arms, delighted to believe she had come to greet him.

“Little one, indeed,” mocked Mum, emerging from convenient shadows.

Zophia spun her attention briefly toward her husband—how he tousled Red’s curls. Something tugged at the corners of her mouth but smoothed away hurriedly before being seen.

“Seems your ‘little one’ was just stepping out,” she said with a tilted smirk.

Then she placed Red stiffly before her.

Zophia leered just long enough for a chill of regret to slink up her neck. Her fingers closed around the strap of the sling pack—too tightly. Heavier than she expected. Heavier than it should be. For a moment, she wasn’t here, in this ship.

She was barefoot. Wide-eyed. A cracked window. A sky that stretched forever. Then—

She blinked. Exhaled sharply.

She wasn’t even sure it was her dream.

Best to forget dreams like hers.

Zophia pushed aside half-baked sentimentality—or was it a dangerous memory?

She quickly reclaimed herself. Girded steel as she plucked the sling pack from Red.

Red crumbled.

EchoHub’s failure stung. But having her dream denied by someone who’d never dared one? That bit deepest. Would Mum really be the reason she would be forever alone?

Red refused such a fate. She wasn’t going to lose her last chance—not this way.

The door swooshed closed as Mum stalked away.

Red stared at the shut door of her bedroom pod. Her fists trembling.

Being grounded meant dinner alone—which suited Red just fine. She could scheme in peace, and dare to defy Mum without interruption.

She didn’t understand Mum. She wanted to. She just didn’t know why.

She loved her mum, probably.

But she mostly didn’t like her.

Red pouted. She poked at the plankton-based semblance of her favorite ‘hot dog’ meal while suffering a shortage of inspiration. How to get the goggles back? Someone else’s goggles?

She stabbed her food. She didn’t have time to be grounded. ’Til midnight tomorrow was all the time she had left. Goggles or not. Because soon, everyone would be grounded. For good. On Talamh Ru.

Red cradled EchoHub, surprised by how much heavier it felt now. Where did automaton spirits go? She didn’t know.

Carefully, she nestled Echo into the hollow of the goggle case. A flash remembrance of how her mother had almost reached for EchoHub. Why? She tossed the mystery aside, returning to the faint hum lingering in the air as she closed the case. Her lips trembled, betraying the emotions swirling inside her, unshed tears catching the

light.

“I’m sorry, friend,” she whispered, brushing a finger over the case. “But I promise—this isn’t the end.”

She exhaled shakily and pressed the lid one last time.

Then—

The door chimed.

“Little one?”

Red startled, dropping the box onto her bed.

The door slid open … to Poppy. A tall man. A lean man. Soft and kind.

Red hurled herself into his arms, sorrow spilling out.

As he caught Red, he dropped what he carried behind him.

Red peered over Poppy’s shoulder. The sling pack lay on the floor.

Familiar shape. Familiar weight.

The goggles.

Her spark reignited, and she clenched her fists.

They’d see. She’d make sure of it.

Red slid from her father’s arms and squealed joyfully as she picked up the sling pack with the goggles still inside.

“Shhhh!” Poppy said as he closed the door behind him. “Mum mustn’t know.”

‘Poppy’—Alin Aldus Finn, a prominent Magnus—loved and respected his wife.

He knew some of her past traumas and had wanted to shield her from future harm. Though she was a tough one to shield.

He also needed to show tenderness toward Red, who knew nothing of her mother’s traumas. Balancing these often-conflicting goals had been a challenge for Poppy. He had managed. So far. Kind of.

Red had promised to keep the secret but then hesitated. She trudged to her bedside, her lips pouting downwards. There lay the goggle case. She glanced at Poppy, then back at the box.

Opening the lid, she revealed the broken EchoHub.

“Oh dear,” Poppy said as Red’s lower lip protruded even further.

“I tried to fix it,” she said.

“Well … you tried. Maybe it just needs a rest, time to grow.”

Red didn’t like it when Poppy treated her like a child. She would never tell him so, however.

“I’d fix it for you if I could, little one,” Poppy murmured, brushing a curl from her forehead. “But some things … well, some things you just have to reach for yourself.”

He tapped EchoHub’s case, his smile gentle, knowing. “But this little bub?” His voice softened. “It’s just the beginning.”

A kind distraction. But it did something else, too. It sparked a vision. A future

EchoHub. One that wouldn’t just flicker and die—one that would listen across galaxies.

One day, Red would listen across galaxies. And the universe would listen back.

Next: Episode 5—The Keeper of the Stars

Looking for a different episode? Find it in the Starwoven Index.

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When we last saw Red …

she was tolerating her Mum, making a plea, making a vow, and mourning EchoHub.

No one around to stop her. Red inhaled, holding the breath long enough for the door to slide closed behind her. Ti Tayme was carrying the future of humanity. Surely, somewhere aboard, her solution lay in wait.

She just had to find it.

This morning she had three days left until docking. Now, just two and a half. Time mattered now—tick-tock.

The young explorer moved about the ship without drawing much attention. One of the benefits of being unseen. Today, in particular, palpable electric energy filled the air as Origins, the first to awaken from stasis, and GenOnes, their offspring born during the journey, were buzzing. Energetically eager for their arrival on solid ground and a new planet.

Talamh Ru loomed ahead, the first world many would finally call “home”.

Hmph. Red pondered the GenOnes’ enthusiasm for a so-called “home.” She doubted that Talamh Ru, once they arrived, would feel much like home. Still, the lively atmosphere around her was refreshing—even though it couldn’t entirely mask the growing unease in her gut. She had no time for further setbacks. Tick-tock.

She scanned the bustling mall. Vendors hawking wares, neon signs blinking hypnotic lures. The hovolators droned, ferrying people between decks. The air swirled with the tang of fried algae snacks and the sweet perfume of hydroponic blooms.

Then—she saw it.

A flicker. A flash.

ARU—Augmented Reality University.

Red thumped her forehead. AR goggles, of course!

With augmented reality goggles, Red would be able to see what she already felt—that the cosmos wasn’t just light filling empty space. It was a living tapestry. And somewhere amid the roar of cosmic winds whirled a ‘voice’—the one she had hoped to capture with Echo. The one she hoped she would now ‘see’ through the goggles.

And she knew just where to find a pair. Tera.

Tera had a pair—so did all the others. Everyone over the age of twelve had a pair of AR goggles. But not Red. She wasn’t old enough.

Red could simply ask Tera to borrow hers, but time was short and no telling about Tera’s mood, being smack dab in the middle of puberty. Plus, she doubted Tera would even miss them.

She was desperate.

She had to act now, while most of her siblings, including Tera, were preoccupied with mall chaos. With a plan, Red hurried home.

Mum’s sitting-room door was closed. Tea time. No one else was home yet.

Perfect.

Tera’s room, just across from hers, was its usual disaster. Clutter everywhere. But there—untouched—sat the goggle case. Too pristine. Too obvious. Red’s heart thumped. She had seconds.

Red crouched low—a stalking panther stance—inched across the floor. Case open. Goggles in hand.

Larger than expected. Lighter. Sparkling with embedded nanoparticles. She barely had time to admire them.

Then—

A voice. Too close. Too familiar.

“I’m home.”

Red froze.

Mum intercepted Tera with a curt, “Good,” and headed toward the kitchen. “Check on your sister.”

Red cringed at the muffled exchange between Mum and Tera. She feared she was about to be caught red-handed. No time to escape to her own room.

“Okay, baby GAGA, come out, come out, wherever you are,” Tera taunted from too close.

Don’t call me that! was all Red could think as the pit in her stomach sloshed and kerplunked.

Tera was one of a set of triplets, genetically the same as Una and Delia, yet unique enough to be the sole confidant of Red among her siblings. Until Red, Tera had been the ‘baby’, the last born—the last intended.

Spending five years as the ‘caboose,’ Tera had surely developed a sense of solitude—even if she couldn’t entirely grasp Red’s. Tera was born four minutes after her next older sibling. For Red, the distance was years.

“Oof!” Tera cried as she bent to the force of her little sister plowing into her at the doorway.

“Whoa there, GAGA12 ...” Red—the last of twelve Finns born on the Galactic Alliance Generation Ark (GAGA).

“I told you not to call me that!” Her eyes turned hard and flinty.

“Well, whoa there anyway,” Tera teased. “Where do you think you’re going so fast?”

And suddenly stern, “What are you doing in my room?”

Red stole a glance down at the goggle case in her hands, and Tera quickly caught on.

“You little thief, those are mine.” She snatched the case away.

Red rocked onto her toes, heart pounding. She had seconds before Tera shut this down.

“I need them. Just for tonight. Please.”

“Let me guess.” Tera snorted. “Your stupid stars again?” She shook her head.

“Seriously, Jayla, do you ever stop?”

The words stabbed deeper than they should have. Red stiffened, refusing to let the tears come.

I’m not just a kid. I’m the one who sees what’s out there. That’s what she wanted to say, but didn’t.

Instead, Red’s eyes locked onto Tera’s. “I thought you understood.”

Tera flinched. A sympathetic heartbeat. Then her smirk faltered. Red’s determination was annoying, sure—but it was also something Tera wished she had. She didn't understand why her little sister needed the stars so desperately, but maybe that’s because she herself had never dared to need something so much.

She sighed and surrendered the goggles.

“Take them,” she said, “but if Mum finds out …”

“She won’t. I promise,” Red said as she happy-danced at Tera’s feet.

“And you better not break them—if they even work.”

Red stopped dancing. “What do you mean, if they work?”

Tera lightened. “How would I know? You’re the star girl.”

Tera’s eyes glossed for a wistful second, then returned to Red. “I want them back tomorrow.”

“Midnight before docking. Please?”

Tera couldn’t help but admire Red. She pulled at her ear. “Fine. By midnight!”

Red squealed and reached to hug her big sister, but pre-teen Tera had already turned away, disappearing like a vanishing mood.

Red smiled anyway. Maybe someday they’d be friends for real.

But right now—

The stars were calling.

Gliding into her room, Red quickly separated the goggles from their case and shoved them into her sling pack. But then, she reconsidered what Tera had said. Her fingers twitched. Slowly, she pulled the goggles back out of the bag.

What if they didn’t work? What if this was just another EchoHub catastrophe?

Time forgotten. Tick—no more.

Red’s hands trembled as she tightened the straps around her head. She needed to know. The nanoparticles brushed against her skin—soft, warm, humming with energy.

A tingling spread through her, curling at her fingertips. Then—

Her world shifted. Her room was no longer just a room. It breathed—the walls, the fabric, the air itself—vibrant with color and sound. The blanket draped across her bed became a living weave of fibers, each thread whispering secrets to the next. She turned to her potted lavender plant, now a symphony of tiny purple flowers flowing in a magnificent kaleidoscope of colors, pirouetting in a delicate dance.

For one extraordinary moment, Red became entangled in a tangible aura of wonder.

What would she see in space?

Next: Episode 4—Grounded Fire

Looking for a different episode? Find it in the Starwoven Index.

Bonus Content

Curious about the world of Starwoven? Keep yourself busy between episodes with bonus content. Browse the Starwoven INDEX for lore notes, character cards, and companion content. Content associated with Episode 3 includes:

• Jayla Lassò Finn’s Ancestral Fan Chart

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• Red’s Star Maps
  Some of the content—some of my favorite—that didn’t make it into the final draft.

A Note from Red

Sometimes you need to remember how something began to understand where it’s going. Before Echo fizzled, before the green flash, before everything changed—I used to take off my shoes. Not to run. Not to rest. But to remember.
The stars weren’t just something I looked at. They were something I carried with me.
This was my first signal. Even if no one else heard it.
Even if it didn’t make sense.
Even if it wasn’t real.
I knew what I felt.
And I had to believe something out there was trying to reach back.

So… here’s a little bit of before.
Before the call. Before the proof.
Just me, my sneakers, and a whisper I couldn’t let go.

—Red

Continuation of what didn’t make the final cut … and more about EchoHub …

The universe could have her full attention now. Red gazed out to the blue smudge in space that was a distant galaxy and felt sure there was a voice out there somewhere. The stars were Red’s promise of connection, and all she needed was a hint of otherworldly existence, someone else out there, someone else reaching out for connection.

The EchoHub buzzed. Not its usual buzz, but one accompanied by an unusual vibration. Red tapped the screen. Following a flash of green, things went dark.
The family pod was always well lit, even though it was often uncomfortably silent. What was not well lit suddenly was the EchoHub. No lights dancing around its frame. No blue. No yellow. No green. Just dark.

Red’s heart dropped as her lifeline to the stars kaputed. She shook the prototype lightly at first, but hoping to regain the ‘flash of green’, she next shook it desperately. Nothing. Her eyes darted back and forth between what was outside the bubble window and what remained blank on the EchoHub screen. Her heart sank further. Had she missed it? The voice?

Her racing thoughts fixed on Poppy, then just as quickly evaporated, leaving her with the vision of the thrumming sign too often alit on his door — Do Not Disturb. She flashed an alternate truth.

“Little Red, I'm always here for you. You could never disturb me,” he had said as he patted her head before turning back to the series of screens before him.
And though Red had understood his words were sincere, she also understood her truth. She remembered, bending her head down and quietly shuffling toward the door that day.

“Hold on there, Little One; I have something for you.” And that’s when Poppy handed her the funny-named teardrop-shaped gizmo that took both of her tiny hands to hold. Red wide-eyed the microphone grill; it looked like a tiny constellation of pinholes. And the ring of soft pulsating lights at its base was “customizable,” Poppy had said.

But what Red marveled most at was the ‘radar-like feature’, a signal detection screen. Poppy showed her how a series of prismatic waves would pulse across the EchoHub’s screen when a signal from space was detected, followed by a fluorescing arrow that would point the way to its source.

“I call it an EchoHub,” Poppy had said.

Red squeezed her eyes closed and hugged the EchoHub to her chest as she spun around and declared, “You’re going to be my best friend.”

“It listens to the universe, to the stars, like you.” Poppy smiled, and his words echoed to Red as he once again disappeared back into his work.

That day was one of her best memories.

The present day was questionable.

A button push for ‘power on’, but no response. Red shook EchoHub once more, but heard only a tiny rattle.

“Test; one, two.” No response.

Closing Reflection

In stories, sometimes what gets cut is what lingers longest in the silence between beats. This quiet ritual—removing her magnetos, honoring the constellations, listening with her whole heart—was always part of Red’s journey. Even if the main episodes didn’t leave room for it.

Thank you for stepping into that silence with her—and maybe, if you’re the kind to doodle on your soles, you’ll understand why she needed to start there. Why the stars had to be hers before they could be anyone’s.

And if you’re listening closely, you might just hear a whisper too.

Speak to me,
JL Tooker

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Where we left Red … and found Zophia …

We left Red sitting with questions about pods, Section Twelve, and green flashes. Zophia was decks below … facing reflections.

EchoHub remained lifeless. The silence had stretched long enough for Red to feel its weight pressing against her ribs.

The green flash—it had happened, hadn’t it? Or had she imagined it?

Her fingers hovered above the device, willing it back to life. Waiting for the glow to return. Needing it to be real.

Nothing.

Time hadn’t stopped while she was lost in thought. The automated voice from before had long faded, swallowed by the ship’s hum. The soft click of the ventilation system rattled, a timid reminder that life aboard Ti Tayme continued—whether she found her voice among the stars or not.

She gritted her teeth, kicking the beanbag chair away as she shot up to her feet.

No. She wouldn’t let this slip away.

If the green flash was real, it meant something. It had to.

She needed tools. Now.

Grabbing EchoHub, Red bolted toward the kitchen pod, her mind already running through her options. Poppy would know what to do. Poppy always knew. If she could get to him, maybe—Her stomach clenched.

Do Not Disturb.

The words felt heavier than usual.

Her fists tightened around EchoHub. Fine. She’d do it herself.

In the kitchen, she spread out her scavenged tools. The butter knife, the skewer, the long tweezers. The same ones she had used last time, and the time before that. Not perfect, but they would have to do.

Red pried the access panel open. A small nudge. A deep breath. A steadying hand. Her fingers trembled as she guided the magnetic bead toward the misaligned crystal.

Click. A pulse of light flickered through the circuits.

Yellow. Blue.

Come on, Echo.

Green.

Green!

She gasped—then the light died.

The kitchen dimmed for half a second. Red stiffened. Had the ship flickered? Or was it Echo pulling from the grid?

No, that wasn’t possible. Was it?

She swallowed hard.

She hadn’t imagined this—something had answered.

And she had three days to prove it.

High above, in Ti Tayme’s neural archives, algorithms hummed. Tracking anomalies. Echoes. Signals.

GAP already knew. They had been watching before Jayla Finn was even born.

And beyond the veil of encrypted firewalls—something watched back.

A quiet transmission flickered through restricted channels.

“Another event on the Finn frequency. Should we flag it?”

Silence. A beat. Then— “No. Archive it.” Pause.

“She’s a child.”

The module entrance whooshed open, and a moment later, whooshed again. The first was a sibling, the second unmistakably Mum—pointed steps announced her signature gait.

But Red was lost in a deep ponder, gripping what she had thought may be imaginary but now fully seemed real. Truly real. Echo could neither confirm nor deny this in the shared silence between them. Its faint blue and yellow lights managed to hang on—barely—like an uncertain breath.

The cleared throat caught Red off guard as Zophia’s frame, silhouetted by the sterile light, emerged from the entrance of the gathering pod.

Her thoughts splintered as she scrambled to hide EchoHub.

“Still at it.” The words landed like a closing door, final, absolute.

Not a question. A verdict.

Zophia’s gaze trained immediately on the faltering device, as if pulled to it. She repressed what stirred in her as her hand hovered over EchoHub for a fraction too long. A reflection in Red’s eyes caught her as she turned to measure her daughter’s naiveté against her own ironclad reality.

Zophia straightened her turtleneck and summoned a sharp breath to return her rigid composure. “You're wasting your time … chasing what you cannot understand.”

Red opened her mouth, closed it, then studied her mother’s face. A look she hadn’t seen before. Vulnerability? Then forced back her usual ‘Yes, Mum’ and instead parried with, “You don’t get to tell me what I cannot understand.” She held firm on the outside but trembled fiercely inside. “You don’t get to tell me what to believe.”

Zophia’s fingers reached back to her turtleneck, scrunching the no longer neat fold. She collected herself by smoothing away imaginary lint from her shoulder. Don’t tell me what to believe. She fought the memory, then turned to go. “Dinner at six. Be there.”

But she paused at the doorway, fingers twitching—as if they itched for her to turn back around.

Then her fingers curled into a fist. And she was gone.

Red sat there, pinned to the bubble view of space, biting the inside of her cheek until the sound of her mother’s footsteps faded away. Only then did she allow herself to sink further into the artificial embrace of the beanbag chair. Any embrace that would help the tremble of defiance subside.

She cradled EchoHub with a mother’s tenderness. “Please,” almost as if speaking to herself rather than the device, “don’t give up on me.” Then she pressed her cheek to Echo and closed her eyes. “One day, I'll make you really shine.” Poppy’s not the only brilliant one around here.

Then—

A flicker. Tiny.

A pinprick of green.

Her breath hitched.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, afraid to touch it. Afraid to break it.

It was real. Wasn’t it?

She blinked hard, heart pounding in her throat. But when she looked again—black.

A cruel trick of the failing circuits? A desperate child’s wishful thinking?

Red struggled for air. She jiggled EchoHub tentatively. Then more vigorously. Then tapped an insistent finger on the screen. “I saw that! Don’t you play games with me, Echo. If there’s something out there, show me.”

Red leaped to her feet. “Poppy!” she called, but the family module answered with its usual silence.

A final sputter—then nothing.

Echo was gone.

The weight of the universe pressed down, heavy, suffocating. Red let it settle. Let it crush her ribs, squeeze the hope from her lungs. Let it threaten to make her small.

Then—she pushed back.

She squared her shoulders, fingers still trembling but steady. “Now I know.”

Her words misted the glass, curling into ghostly shapes before vanishing.

She pressed a trembling finger to the cold surface, tracing the letters:

When she lifted her hand, her reflection stared back—wide-eyed, defiant, small … but not silent.

Not alone.

She wiped the mist away with her sleeve, clearing space for something stronger.

A new vow.

Speak to me.

Next: Episode 3—Swipe and Run

Looking for a different episode? Find it in the Starwoven Index.

Bonus Content

Curious about the world of Starwoven? Keep yourself busy between episodes with bonus content. Browse the Starwoven INDEX for lore notes, character cards, and companion content. Content associated with Episode 2 includes:

• EchoHub’s Silent Signal CharacTarot (For more information about CharacTarot, check out → The Quantagled Quore.)

• Content that didn’t make the cut—Red’s Star Maps and EchoHub’s background

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Inside you’ll find sketches from the stasis wing, a mission patch worn by Origins officers, official GAP documents, and a character profile in the form of CharacTarot.

What you see here may not yet be understood by the characters themselves—but one day, it will matter.

[Note: The purple links lead to downloadable content]

• Mission Patch – Ti Tayme PX-2175
  “Issued to Origins personnel prior to departure from Kepler Dock 1. Worn by GAP senior officers.”

• CharacTarot: Liminal Child or → Download Liminal Child with journal prompts

  
  “A card pulled from the cosmic deck, representing Red’s archetype in this tale.”

• Sketch Log: Section Twelve
  “Zophia Finn, stasis pods, and the secrets that slumber. Artist’s rendering recovered from Ti Tayme records.”

• GAP Passenger Manifest

  (downloadable PDF)
  “Official departure and docking declarations. Review with caution.”

Which artifact spoke to you most?
Would you wear the Ti Tayme patch—or stitch your own?

Leave a comment and let me know what you’d like to see next:
– Another CharacTarot card?
– A Classified GAP Advisory Memo?
– Or an image of EchHub?

We’ve only just begun to unravel the threads.

Speak to me.

—JL Tooker

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Author’s Note:

Starwoven: Hear My Call has has been serialized here into 12 episodes on Substack, and now is also available as an ebook on Amazon

Ti Tayme had been drifting through space for two hundred years. In three days, the Origins, the GenOnes, the GAGAs—all of them—would be shuttled to their new world.

Talamh Ru. Home.

But space was Red’s home.

In three days, she would be … lost.

There had to be hundreds of family modules on Ti Tayme. The Finn module was probably the most frigid. The last pneumatic whoosh of the door confirmed Red was alone. A phantom chill prickled her skin, sharp as an urchin’s spines. Instinctively, she curled her fingers into the fabric of her sleeve, grounding herself in the cold bite of the recycled air. As sharp and sterile as the ship itself. The module wasn’t just sterile—it was soundless, the quiet of stillness closing in on its prey.

In the gathering pod, where it seemed like Red was the only one who ever gathered there, the quiet settled like dust on an airless moon. Her pink jumpsuit couldn’t mask the explorer’s heart, not as her magneto boots tapped across the smooth lumina tiles. Delicate metallic clinks echoed behind her, following in a rhythm that had grown comforting on her familiar journey.

She stretched up on her tiptoes and pressed her palm to the bubble window. A cool touch. Reaching beyond for the vast hollow of space.

You have to listen to be heard, little one. Poppy’s words floated through her memory. But listen to what? The past? The silence?

Red agreed with her father. The universe was too huge for someone not to be lurking on the other side. That’s what she told herself. Otherwise, her voice would have already been swallowed by the abyss.

She hoisted the beanbag beneath the window and grabbed EchoHub—her faithful ‘research assistant.’ Another comforting ritual. Echo had been her only companion since Poppy first presented her with the prototype on her eighth birthday.

“It listens to space,” he had said. “And it lights up when it hears something.”

Red had lit up with the gift—with the hope of discovery and connecting with something she believed was out there.

“Alright, Echo. Let’s see if the universe wants to chat today.” She rolled her eyes as she pressed record, muttering, “Whatever.”

After hundreds of recordings—and she would never say it out loud—her hopes were waning. Still, there were a few days left for the stars to crack open and spill their secrets.

The stars had always owned Red, drawing her toward something unseen. A pull that was raw instinct, woven into her bones like gravity. If the universe was empty, if no one was listening, then it meant something worse than loneliness. Isolation meant extinction. Connection meant survival.

EchoHub hummed softly … until it didn’t.

A whisper of static. A flicker. Then—

Her pulse slammed into her ribs as the verdant glow shimmered on EchoHub’s surface, flickering like a heartbeat.

A green flash!

It heard something.

Then—gone.

A sharp crack of static. A crushing silence. EchoHub dimmed.

Red’s fingers hovered, numb.

What had she just seen?

EchoHub remained dark, silent. The weight of loss pressed into her ribs, thick and immovable. Then—

A rude chime rang through the ship, sterile and indifferent. “Attention: Auxiliary power diverted for stasis vault recalibration in Section Twelve. No further action required.”

Red frowned. What pods?

And why now? The timing felt too precise. Too intentional. And what was Section Twelve?

Sealed within Ti Tayme’s lower decks was a dark assembly of stasis vaults—glass sarcophagi abandoned by all but two. Breath lines, expiration tubes, monitors, all quiet, but two.

Zophia Finn, the only awakened—awakening—human presence here, other than the timid shadow of a bumbling technician. She stood alone on one side of the observation glass, arms crossed, expression unreadable. She looked down at the pulsing, hissing tanks and monitors on the opposing side of the glass.

The hissing tanks. Her gaze flickered, her thoughts stuttering in time. She tried to go deep—but pulled back.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Not officially.

Two remaining stasis vaults, still twitching with life. Both out of sync. The power surges had not really concerned Zophia. The two sleeping occupants, however, did.

Especially Heming Gurdjieff.

Gurdjieff. A man of careful words—and even more careful betrayals. Someone she had not forgotten. Could not forget.

Her hand hovered near the glass, fingers twitching before she forced them away. A cold breath curled in her throat. She had felt this before. Something doesn’t sleep quietly.

Then a whisper of thought pressed from within. The stars will burn you.

But what did it mean? The words she had heard before, but why always here in Section Twelve? The control panel called to her, but she withdrew her hand.

The technician paced a few steps back and forth before approaching and allowing the words to exit his dry mouth. “The stasis fields are holding.” His voice wavered slightly. “Stable. For now.”

Zophia’s gaze remained locked on Gurdjieff’s pod. The slowed pulse on his monitor blinked irregularly.

She exhaled, almost to herself, “And yet, some things wake long before they’re meant to.”

The technician shifted uneasily. “Ma’am?”

She turned, forcing herself to leave, though her feet hesitated a fraction longer than she intended. “Notify me if the fluctuations become unacceptable.”

She strode toward the exit, the sterile air pressing against her skin. Her reflection fractured across the observation glass, like a silent watcher of its own. Two pods.

Separation. Finality.

This was once me. The thought came unbidden, the image unwelcome. A girl pressing her hand against glass. A voice whispering, I’ll find you.

Nonsense.

Nothing had ever answered.

Then she was gone.

Red’s thoughts froze.

Her jumpsuit felt suddenly a touch too warm.

She tilted her head toward Echo as she pursed her lips.

What had just happened?

Next: Episode 2—Speak to Me

Looking for a different episode? Find it in the Starwoven Index.

Bonus Content

Curious about the world of Starwoven? Keep yourself busy between episodes with bonus content. Browse the Starwoven Section INDEX for lore notes, character cards, and companion content.

→Bonus content associated with Episode 1

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STARWOVEN: HEAR MY CALL - ebook ~ or ~ downloadable PDF version

After reading, if Red’s journey stirred something in you—or if you found wonder, resonance, or even just a flicker of curiosity in the pages of Starwoven: Hear My Call—I’d be grateful if you’d consider leaving a short review on Amazon.

Your words help others find this story, and they help me keep weaving new ones.

Whether it’s a sentence or a paragraph, your voice matters.

If you’d like to leave a review here, press the magic button below:

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Thank you for reading. Thank you for listening.
—JL Tooker

EPISODE 1: The Green Flash and Glass Ghosts

→ Bonus Content Gallery - Episode 1

EPISODE 2: Speak to Me

→ Bonus Content Gallery - Episode 2

EPISODE 3: Swipe and Run

→ Bonus Content Gallery - Episode 3

EPISODE 4: Grounded Fire

EPISODE 5: The Keeper of the Stars

→ Bonus Content Gallery - Episode 5

EPISODE 6: When the Stars Reached Back

EPISODE 7: Through Her Own Eyes

EPISODE 8: The Hidden Chamber

EPISODE 9: Patterns Manifest

EPISODE 10: The Deepest Cut

EPISODE 11: Ancient Star Wanderer

EPISODE 12: This is Where I begin