Orion drifted through a cluster of pale stars until he found a lake floating in the void—a perfect mirror of crystal-clear water, reflecting the cosmos above. He landed softly, his feet barely disturbing the surface.
He looked into the lake and saw not his own reflection, but the images of worlds he had visited—the silver tree, the singing stones, the garden of silent stars.
"Who are you?" a voice asked.
A figure rose from the water—a being of shimmering light, with eyes that held the depth of a thousand skies.
"I am the Guardian of the Lake," it said. "I hold the reflections of a
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The photograph was worn, the edges soft, the image faded. Lena held it in her hands, studying the faces of the young soldiers, her grandfather among them. They were smiling, arms around each other, young and alive and unaware of what was to come.
“Where was this taken?” Alex asked.
Lena turned the photograph over, read the handwriting on the back. “Bastogne. 1944.”
They drove to Bastogne, the town surrounded by forests and fields, the memories of war still fresh. The museum was small, filled with artifacts—uniforms, weapons, letters. Lena walked through the exhibits, her grandfather’
“Where was this taken?” Alex asked.
Lena turned the photograph over, read the handwriting on the back. “Bastogne. 1944.”
They drove to Bastogne, the town surrounded by forests and fields, the memories of war still fresh. The museum was small, filled with artifacts—uniforms, weapons, letters. Lena walked through the exhibits, her grandfather’