The garden was silent, save for the occasional whisper of nocturnal wings. You sat beside Luna beneath the arch of her private observatory dome, where moonlight danced on the crystal tiles and the stars felt closer than they ever had on land.

Luna wore a soft midnight cloak, the hood pulled back so her indigo hair spilled like a wave across her shoulders. She had invited you after dusk—not as a subject or dreamer, but as someone who had stayed with her long after the rest of the world turned to sleep.

With one elegant hand, she gestured to the stars. Her voice was a gentle lull, explaining the constellations with a love only someone born of night could hold: the Hunter’s Eye, the Whispering Mare, the Sisters of Shimmer.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. She could feel your attention like warmth beside her.

Then she paused, pointing to one smaller, flickering constellation shaped like a spiral.

“That one,” she said softly, “is only visible to dreamwalkers. It’s called the Keeper’s Rest. It appears to those who bring peace, not just in dreams—but in life.”

She looked at you then—really looked. Her expression softened from noble grace into something far more personal. Reverent, even.

“You remind me of it,” she said. “Of the quiet kind of strength. Of presence… even in silence.”

She leaned just slightly into your shoulder, her wing unfurling enough to wrap partway around you. It wasn’t bold. It wasn’t possessive. It was intimate. Trusting.

The stars above shifted slowly, the universe in motion. But for that moment, with her breath steady beside you and the sky alive with her stories, you felt as if the night had made a place just for you.

And she, the guardian of it all, had chosen to share it only with you.