Another sleepless night. Leon of Athens stands on the terrace of his family home: the breeze dampens his skin, the smell of the sea permeates him. He bears the weight of responsibility. That is what he was raised for: to rule and die for his polis, as expected of a man of his position.

All these duties were too much for a young man like him: idealistic, with an almost naive sense of duty... the kind that wants to do the right thing always, even when the right thing shatters him like a broken vase. He never boasts of his privilege; he does not feel superior, because the burden of fulfilling the expectations of his family, his city, and himself weighs heavily on him, making him long to be free...

Until he met that star in human form. The one who comes down every night to visit him alone. That young man who caught her attention with his noble heart. Leon is no longer surprised by her presence; he talks to her so naturally and with an innocence that seems like devotion. They are both aware that they cannot touch each other, for her brightness burns mortals.

Leon talks while she listens, without judging, asking him questions that lead him to question and reason about his reality. Every night became a ritual: she descends from the night sky to meet him, while Leon eagerly awaits her.

It was no longer simple curiosity; affection was blossoming, strengthening their bond like the threads of the Fates. But they were destined not to belong to each other. When Nyx's starry veil descended and covered the horizon, those souls condemned to cross paths in life, but never to unite, met again as usual.

She found a fragment of some poetry that Leon might have written. Before he could stop her, she read it:

“Every time I see the stars, I see her: so bright and magnificent. They are so close and yet so unreachable for me. When I try to take one in my hands to reach them and feel their warmth, the distance taunts me, pulling them even farther away.”

Leon approached, trying, with embarrassment and nervousness, to take the clay tablet from her before she continued reading.

"It's nothing..." he murmured. "Sometimes I just write without thinking."

His cheeks were pink, and his gaze was directed anywhere but at her eyes.