A Sanctuary from the Stars

Dinner in the sanctuary was never quiet, even with the ghosts, but this was its own welcome treat

The hall, with its great arched ceiling and worn prayer rugs, echoed with clatter and laughter, heated arguments over ration sizes, and the ritual groaning of chairs too old to keep up with their owners' growth spurts.

Pierce sat at the long table—the same table where he'd learned to eat in silence, to pray with gratitude, to dodge elbows during stew night.

Faye, eldest of the family, kept the chaos manageable. Her voice snapped over the table like a well-trained whip.

"Eli, don't slurp, use your spoon. Toma, hands off Will's plate. Mika, your ass doesn't leave your seat until you clean your plate."

She moved like a force of nature: sleeves rolled up, hair braided tight, expression fierce. The Mother Speaker had raised them with patience and poetry. Faye raised them with precision and a ladle.

Pierce ate quietly, enjoying the play of voices he had missed for almost a decade.

Most of them had grown. Eli's voice cracked now. Mika had that distant look teenagers got when they started imagining lives outside the sanctuary walls. Will, the smallest, still clung to Pierce's sleeve whenever no one was looking.

He could almost forget the world outside. Almost.

When the meal ended, Faye gave the usual sendoff: "Rooms. Chores in the morning. Don't make me hunt anyone down."

Seven pairs of feet scrambled. Will lingered in the hall, tucked into a blanket, eyes on Pierce as if watching a star in danger of burning out.

"You came early." Faye said, settling into the seat across from him. Placing two cups of tea between them. Fitting comfortable within the grooves marked into the coffee table.

"Cold's harsher in the fringes. No arcotowers out here. Figured you'd need the help."

"We need you, Pierce. Not your logistics. You still count as part of this home, you know. Even if you don't act like it."

He met her gaze. Not defensive, just tired.

"It gets harder. Every year. To come back. To leave again. Feels like I'm splitting in two."

She softened then, just a little.

"Then hold on to the part that matters. We haven't changed as much as you think. And I don't think you have either, no matter how many little hairs you get on your chin."

They walked the outer corridor, past the lightless stained-glass windows, until they reached the old prayer vestibule. The Luminary's glow filtered in through the upper spires, its light catching the etched verses that once gave them hope when the world had none.

"The government approved the sanctuary designation," Faye said, voice catching. "Protea's safe. Officially. They can't move us, can't strip our archives, our lands or our people, can't draft our kids either. Mom and Dad fought for this their whole lives for this, I just wish we weren't ten years too late."

Pierce looked up at the mural—the Rising Star, flanked by the seven symbols of the Way. His chest tightened.

"They'll get to see it. Through us. I didn't get a choice, but now they will."

She moved to hug him. He let it happen. Even opened an arm for Will, who hadn't stopped trailing them.

"So much is going to change, Pierce. But not this. Not us."

He said nothing, only held them. Their warmth cut through something cold that had settled deep in his bones.

Later that night, long after the laughter died and the corridors dimmed, he sat at the small desk in the guest quarters. The window overlooked the sanctuary courtyard, where the wind stirred old leaves and younger prayers.

He scrolled through old messages.

One from Yuri pulsed at the top.

yuri: "Are you still coming back next cycle? There's something I need to tell you."

He stared at it, thumb hovering over the reply.

Whatever it was, it could wait.

He had come home. He'd give them this much. Powering off the dataslate and turning over into his covers.