Chapter One: The Rebirth of Aska The Dying Plantet
A thousand revolutions of the galactic core had passed. Kael no longer measured time as mortals did; he marked it by the bloom cycles of the Nebula Dream. Eons drifted past like breaths. Yet, despite the endless beauty of the cosmos, a quiet ache had begun to take root in his heart—a longing for purpose beyond observation.
He drifted now through the Veil Nebula, a cradle of stardust where light moved in slow, graceful arcs, trailing behind him like the hem of some forgotten celestial tapestry. But even in this place of ancient splendor, the ache persisted, calling him further, deeper.
That was when he heard it. A voice—not loud, but vast. Faint. Wounded.
He followed the resonance, spiraling down into the heart of a world he did not yet know but somehow recognized: Aska.
Once, Aska had been vibrant. He could feel it, not in the scarred earth before him but in the echo of what had been. Now, the skies hung heavy, dimmed as though the planet itself had forgotten how to carry light. The ground beneath him was brittle, a canvas of ashen ruin where nothing grew.
Kael knelt in the lifeless dust, unsealing a small vial from within his robes. Inside, the shimmering pollen of the Nebula Dream glowed with its soft, cosmic light—a fragment of eternity held in his palm. He let it spill, a cascade of iridescent motes drifting to the barren soil. But as they settled, the soil resisted. The seeds did not take root. Something deeper was missing.
A voice trembled from the earth itself, a whisper so ancient he could feel it more than hear it. Why do you come?
Kael closed his eyes. “Because you called.”
“I did not call. I am forgotten.”
The ache in Kael’s chest deepened. The planet was not resisting—it was afraid. It had forgotten how to live.
So he searched deeper.
Amid the broken cities of Aska, Kael found a forgotten place—a temple of black stone, buried beneath the weight of centuries. At its heart lay an ancient crystalline archive, pulsing faintly as though it too clung to its last moments of existence.
He reached out. The memories bloomed into his mind.
The people of Aska had once known the secret of life, but they had twisted it. They had extracted the essence of their soil, drained it to extend their existence through domination of nature, not harmony with it. They had torn life from the world and called it progress. Immortality had become their conquest over death—and so they withered, even as their bodies lingered.
Kael understood. Immortality was never a gift. It was a responsibility. It was not enough to live forever if life itself was left behind.
Returning to the desolate fields, Kael knelt once more. He pressed his palm into the soil, not offering the Nebula Dream this time but himself.
A single note escaped his lips.
A song. Low, resonant, woven not of sound but of intention. He sang not to Aska but with it, drawing from the pulse of the universe, the rhythm of roots awakening, the delicate frequencies of life uncoiling from dormancy.
The soil trembled. The voice returned, softer now. I… remember?
A faint glow shimmered beneath the earth. For a breathless moment, nothing changed. Then, from the depths of the ashen wasteland, a single blade of pale green emerged. Fragile, trembling—but alive.
Kael kept singing, his essence pouring outward. His consciousness expanded, not just touching but joining the planet’s spirit. He could feel the ancient pain, the ache of withered roots, the long-forgotten rivers waiting to flow.
“I am still broken.”
Kael shook his head, his voice steady. “You are not broken. You are healing.”
A pulse of light emerged from the soil, not violent but radiant—like dawn pressing against the edges of an endless night. From the ground, a precious, polished gem coalesced, lifting into the air between Kael’s hands. It pulsed with a faint starlight, warm as a heartbeat.
The planet was listening.
Kael cradled the gem, feeling its pulse echo his own. The storm clouds above Aska began to thin. The Nebula Dream bloomed, its emerald vines stretching cautiously across the surface—not in conquest but in symbiosis. For the first time in countless cycles, Aska felt life—not just its return but its memory.
Kael exhaled softly. His song faded, yet its resonance remained, woven into the fabric of the world itself.
The winds carried whispers—echoes of the long-lost people, not as ghosts but as the planet’s renewed vitality. Time was no longer a wound here. It was a cycle. A rhythm. Blooming and wilting. And blooming once again.
Kael knew this was not the end.
Across the void, far beyond Aska’s rebirth, another voice stirred.
Another world. Calling. Dying. Forgotten. kael felt it.
He had become the gardener. And the universe was vast.
The gardener had just begun.
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Hope I don’t get in trouble for trying to write a short story in my journal.
No way I’m able to post two “chapters a day from here though. New characters up next chappy.
Pictures and update on creamatic in a few.
looks like fire to me bro. 
I will look into best options thanks man. I do not want a. Pipe froze or b, no water. Let alone pipe bust from freeze.
