Chapter 12: Stellar Rehabilitation

"So," Maya said, carefully measuring out drops of her latest stabilizing potion, "let me get this straight. The Void isn't actually a void, but more like a cosmic prison, where ancient stars got trapped during some kind of celestial war that nobody bothered to write down in normal history books?"

We were in what used to be the school's eastern tower but had been hastily converted into what my mother was calling the "Stellar Rehabilitation Center." I preferred Maya's name for it: "The Star Asylum."

"That's the simplified version," I replied, watching as one of our "patients"—a small star fragment we'd named Twinkle (Maya's idea, not mine)—attempted to learn how to maintain stable form without corrupting nearby reality.

STRANGE NAME, Twinkle communicated. BUT ACCEPTABLE.

The Crown hummed with amusement. After two days of working with the trapped stars, we'd discovered they had distinct personalities. Some were ancient and wise, others were practically children by stellar standards. All of them were slightly crazy from their imprisonment, but who wouldn't be?

"Looking good, Twinkle!" Maya encouraged as the star fragment successfully maintained its form for a full minute. "Much better than yesterday's attempt."

YESTERDAY EXPLOSION NOT MY FAULT. QUANTUM PHYSICS CONFUSING.

"Tell me about it," Caspian muttered from his corner, where he was attempting to document the rehabilitation process. His usually pristine hair was singed from an earlier incident involving an overexcited stellar entity and an unfortunately placed experimental potion.

Aurora poked her head through the door. "Heads up—Council representatives are here. And they look... twitchy."

I sighed. The Council was still adjusting to the idea that their ancient enemy might not be so enemy-like after all. Vale was on our side, but some of the older members were having trouble accepting change.

"I'll handle it," my mother said, entering with an armful of star charts. "Lyra, keep working with Twinkle. Maya, maybe hold off on any more experimental potions until after the inspection?"

LIKE POTIONS, Twinkle protested. MAKE COLORS PRETTY.

"See? They like my potions!" Maya beamed.

"They also liked eating the entire restricted section of the library," Caspian pointed out. "Their judgment might be slightly impaired."

Before Maya could defend her new stellar friends' literary taste, Professor Vale swept in with three stern-looking Council members in tow. They carried various detection devices, all of which started beeping frantically in the presence of our stellar refugees.

"As you can see," Vale was saying, "the situation is well under control. The Crown's power, combined with Miss Nightshade's unique abilities and Miss Chen's stabilizing formulas, has allowed us to—"

She stopped as Twinkle decided this would be the perfect moment to demonstrate their new trick: shape-shifting into various constellations. Unfortunately, they got stuck halfway between Orion and the Big Dipper.

HELP. CONFUSED. TOO MANY STARS IN PATTERN.

"I got it," I said quickly, letting the Crown's power flow through me to help stabilize their form. "Remember what we practiced—focus on one shape at a time."

The Council members watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as Twinkle successfully transformed into a slightly wobbly version of the Little Dipper.

"Remarkable," one of them murmured. "But highly irregular. The protocols for containing stellar entities—"

"Are outdated," my mother interrupted smoothly. "These beings aren't our enemies. They're refugees, victims of a war none of us fully understood. With proper rehabilitation, they could become invaluable allies."

As if to prove her point, another of our stellar patients—a larger fragment we'd named Nova (again, Maya's naming convention)—demonstrated their newly mastered skill: purifying corrupted starlight.

WATCH, Nova projected proudly, drawing corrupted purple energy from a containment crystal and transforming it into pure silver light. HEALING POSSIBLE. CHANGE POSSIBLE.

The Council members' devices went haywire.

"This is unprecedented," another Council member said. "The implications for stellar magic theory alone—"

"Not to mention the historical records we could obtain," Caspian added. "These beings remember the original Star-touched. The true purpose of the Crown."

CROWN NOT CAGE, Twinkle contributed. CROWN BRIDGE. CONNECTION. HOME.

I felt the Crown pulse in agreement, sharing another fragment of ancient memory: stars and humans working together, building wonders that had been lost to time.

"We'll need to establish new protocols," the third Council member said, but I could see the excitement breaking through their bureaucratic exterior. "Training programs. Safety measures."

"Already in progress," Vale said smoothly. "Perhaps you'd like to see our preliminary results?"

As she led them toward the documentation area, Maya sidled up to me.

"Hey, while they're distracted... want to see what happens when you combine stellar energy with my latest batch of luminescence potion?"

"Last time we did that, we accidentally made the astronomy tower invisible," I reminded her.

"Yeah, but this time I adjusted the resonance frequency to—"

I HELP, Twinkle volunteered, abandoning their Little Dipper form to float hopefully near Maya's potion vials. LIKE EXPERIMENTS.

"No unauthorized experiments," my mother called without looking up from her discussion with the Council members.

AUTHORIZED EXPERIMENTS? Twinkle asked hopefully.

"Later," I promised. "After we work on your stability exercises."

The Crown suddenly pulsed with warning. Through it, I felt another crack forming—somewhere in the lower levels of the school.

SIBLINGS COMING, Nova announced. FEEL THEM REACHING.

I caught Caspian's eye and nodded toward the door. He immediately began gathering his observation equipment.

"Maya, we need your stabilizing potions," I said. "Aurora—"

"Already on it," she replied, pulling out her enhanced detection crystals. "I'll alert Professor Roth."

As we rushed to deal with the new arrival, I heard one of the Council members say to Vale: "Is it always this chaotic?"

"Oh no," Vale replied calmly. "Usually it's much worse."

CHAOS FUN, Twinkle declared, floating after us. BETTER THAN VOID. EVERYTHING BETTER THAN VOID.

Looking at my strange team—my brilliant best friend with her experimental potions, the mysterious siblings with their ancient knowledge, my mother with her recovered research, and our growing family of rehabilitating stellar entities—I had to agree.

Chaos was definitely better than the alternative.

The Crown hummed with approval as we raced down the stairs, ready to welcome more lost stars home.