A/N:

this story is heavily inspired by the little prince by antonie de saint-exupéry which you don't have to read to understand but if you've never read it please please do. it's just a short little children's book that you can knock out in an hour or two maybe less if youre a fast reader. it will change your life and you will wonder how it passed as a children's book in the first place. that being said, some elements of it will be taken directly from the book and interwoven in here, particularly a lot of the bigger messages so be prepared for that.

a scene in this chapter is also inspired by a scene in howl's moving castle too, you'll know it when you read it.


All men have stars, but they are not the same things for different people. For some, who are travelers, the stars are guides. For others they are no more than little lights in the sky. For others, who are scholars, they are problems... But all these stars are silent.

-the little prince by antonie de saint-exupéry


Bookmen have no need for gods.

This is a principle that Lavi has been raised with since he first began his apprenticeship. It is a maxim that has ingrained itself deep in his bones and made a home beneath his skin and in his bloodstream.

Facts and written history, things seen with his own eyes or with the eyes of others in his clan have more solidity than raising praises at deities that no one living has ever laid eyes upon. The ones that claimed they have seen such sights – religious epiphanies spoken by religious zealots – aren't given much thought if any at all. There is no proof besides bright eyes on the cusp of delusional, insistent nature reaching out to those who grasp blindly at tales, all in hopes of putting their faith in something or someone else they deem greater because they're too afraid to put that fragile feeling in themselves or the hands of another equally as flawed individual.

It is one of the many follies that Lavi sees in humans, not surprising but it always manages to elicit disappointment out of the boy regardless. There have been hundreds of religious wars after all; the sheer amount causes him to see no point in religion if that is all it brings in the end, and makes him wonder why it's impossible for people to see the signs of history in repeat. But humans love to wage war for even the smallest things; flying under the banner of a god creates an illusion of devotion and bravery rather than greed and bloodlust.

Yet, there are nights in which Bookman will raise his head to the velvet black of the night sky, tongue speaking in a language only known to them and their people. It is almost like he seeks the stars for a form of consolation and a handful of ancient wisdom. And maybe he is, for the stars have been hanging in the sky longer than any person has been on earth and will still be there when the last human takes a final breath and for years beyond that. If they had eyes they would have truly seen it all from the very beginning and the spaces before when there was nothing to see.

Lavi thinks if he had to put his belief in something besides history written in black ink on off-white parchment, he would place it the stars and cosmos beyond. Listen to their stories if they had anything to tell, but they're too far away and of course they don't speak. Such a dream is childish, and he places no hope in the possibility of it ever happening. He has the thought once when he is young and never again after time and war help shape him to be less of a dreamer and more of a realist.

The Clan of Bookmen reside somewhere secluded and out of reach, deep in the mountainside nestled on the border of a country. It's hard to stumble upon by accident and impossible to look for even if you know what is being sought after. The magic of their Clan is ancient and great, protective of the people and secrets, so much so that even an apprentice must wait three years after being christened with their first name before they are even allowed to see the caverns for the first time.

Lavi remembers the first time he entered the ancient mountainside, felt the history written into the stone walls and marveled at the vastness of the tunnels that lead to different rooms filled with countless volumes of texts written by hand with great care over the years. Bookman had told him, more than once during his first stay, not to wander so far away that he couldn't see firelight. It was easy to get lost without an older guide to accompany him.

You'll know this place well one day. The elder had said, words spoken as close to a promise as they'd ever get after slipping a mask over the apprentice's features. A tradition as ancient as the Clan itself, one was not to reveal their face in the caverns until their thirtieth name, for such a milestone spoke of great travels and history learned, respect came from numbers and knowledge and journals filled no matter the age.

The village that lies closest to them sits on the mountain's valley, less than half a day's ride on horseback. It is small and traditional and the people speak their own language and have their own customs, tucked away safely from the going ons in the world, for now at least. The people there are welcoming and peaceful, they know of the ancient clan that sits somewhere in the mountain range and refer to Lavi as their distant brother whenever he passes through. And pass through and stay the boy oft does whenever he can make the time to do so between comings and goings.

He does not speak his name and they do not ask him for it, far used to the few habits of the mountain dwellers they have picked up over the years. Yet they treat him just the same as any of the boys native to their village, excited for his arrivals and sad at his departures. It's all rather heartwarming, but Lavi knows better than to get attached despite their niceties towards him. He plays the part easily and without a detectable flaw. He'd feel terrible about lying and tossing fake smiles if it wasn't what he was raised on for over ten years of his life.

On the week where he is supposed to be gifted his fiftieth name, Lavi visits the village proper because he has time to spare and is interested in why everyone seemed to be bustling around. Excitement is a palatable feeling in the air and the bookman junior thrills at the thought of learning something new.

"So, what's going on?" he sidles up to a girl who he grew fond of over the years. (That is, he is as fond of her as he can be when his heart is indifferent to the matters of close relationships with people.) She is more a young woman now that a few years' time has passed between them, and she sits on the steps of a hut, sewing fabrics of a skirt together, peaceful despite the noise around her.

She only startles mildly at his voice, marriage and courting bracelets made of bone clack together softly at her movements. The bracelets are deftly painted; intricate designs a reflection of a new union. Lavi remembers her as a girl he found pretty when he first saw her, soft spoken yet stern when needed and crafty when given the chance and good with a bow. She is pretty still and whoever married her is lucky.

"Brother, you startled me!" her voice is more fond than scolding and lets out a weary sigh and places her task on her lap. "When did you arrive?" If she wasn't so used to his sporadic visits, perhaps she'd be more surprised to see him.

The redhead, not minding that his first question goes unanswered for the time being, gives a smile that's borders on playful and kind. "Came into the area a couple days ago and decided to visit you."

His flattery is met with an eye roll and the gently jostling of his shoulder, she was never easily swayed by his compliments to begin with and marriage has probably steeled her down more. "Well I must thank you, your visits are always a delight." Her autumn brown eyes gleam with curiosity. "Did you bring back any stories to tell? The younger children always love your stories."

He feigns insulted pride and lets out an affronted gasp. "Of course I have. What kind of traveler would I be if I didn't come back with something interesting?"

"I suppose you're right." She hums softly, picks up the fabric again and continues sewing where she left off. "You can tell them at the festival tomorrow if you're still around."

Ah, there it is, the near answer to the bout of curiosity that brought him over to the first place. "What festival?"

"Oh, that's right; you're never around for it." Her head bobs slightly, like in agreement to herself about the statement. "You'll enjoy it, lots of dancing and storytelling and games and a feast even."

"Sure I will," he agrees with her, resting his cheek against his palm. "I always love a good meal and a dance. What's the deal behind it though?"

"It's our turning of the year basically." She starts, all patient calm and still focused on her work despite saddling the task of explaining something. "We call it the festival of fallen light." She says it like it's a delicate thing, and Lavi knows that word will be tricky to translate into any other language besides the one that falls from their tongues. "It's when our gods' children fall from the sky and make merry on near the lake. It is seen as the highest honor, so the village has a festival to show how grateful we are for the year no matter the hardships and that we welcome what is in store for us. We make sure to stay clear of the water from sunrise to sunrise since it will be their sacred space when night falls."

It is an interesting concept, Lavi must at least agree to that, unique in the way that he has never heard something done quite like that, similar in a sense, but nothing to exactly mirror it. He stores the new information securely in his mind and reminds himself to write it down later tonight and examine closely how the day of the festival pans out.

There is a good chance that another Bookman has come through this area and already written down what happens here, but it is hard to tell when dates pile up and as far as he knows, none of the other Bookmen like spend less than a few hours in the village if they can help it. The older and more secluded ones at least.

Besides, no one said there was anything wrong with updating information every few years or so. Different people and different dates mean a different outcome for even the same event after all and he'll gladly be a spectator this year.

The next day, the festival starts when the sun rises and ends when the sun goes down.

Lavi makes sure to do as much as he can within that timeframe, chatting with all the age groups and dancing with a pretty girl or two. They accept him easily, like they always have in the past. Even the children born during his few years of absence clamor excitedly around him for the best and closest spots, no longer wary of his presence after seeing how easily their elder siblings interact around him. When he begins retelling carefully omitted tales of his travels, their eyes are wide and entranced.

One of his dance partners is a young girl with mouse brown hair who needs to stand on the tops of his feet so that they can dance something close to properly. She near pleads with him to stay in village. Bold declaration of wanting to marry him when she gets older spoken with the bravery that only someone so small and young can manage. It startles a laugh out of him, but a promise is not made, even in jest, only reassurance that he'd make sure to visit her if he ever found himself around again. That pleases her just the same and she stays by his side the rest of night until a group of children her age spirit her away to play games.

When night falls, everyone is tucked safe inside their homes and sleeping off the excitement of the day. Lavi, a guest to an older couple that once had a family of seven children at a time, makes sure to stay awake once the village stills. He waits until the moon nearly reaches its peak in the sky before quietly making his way off to the lake. Though the rules of staying away from the area are still in place, such things do not apply to the junior and never have, now even more so since he does not hold belief in the same gods the people do. Their rituals are not his to follow verbatim, only observe.

The lake is beautiful when he gets there, quiet and serene with the moon reflecting perfectly on the surface. It seems close enough to touch and pluck right out of the sky if he wished to do so. The image before him does not change for a few minutes of calm, when suddenly it does and a streak of light makes its way across the sky. Soon others follow after it and the night is alight with comets that are often easily mistaken for falling stars. The realization causes the apprentice to chuckle softly to himself. He knows that away from a world rapidly changing there is always an obligation to find an explanation for every phenomenon the natural earth has to offer, especially if the truth is less than interesting.

Curiosity towards the event sated, the redhead prepares his leave before the sound of something dropping, clear and resounding like a silver spoon clattering on the floor, halts his steps. There are ripples in the water of the lake and not even ten seconds later those ripples are joined by others until it's like rain hitting the surface expect there's light falling instead of water. None of them touch his skin, but some graze close enough to cause a rustle of his hair and clothes. The space surrounding him is filled with a sound that resembles chiming bells, dissonant in how they come together.

Light shines on the surface of the water and childish laughter comes forth, jovial and drifting like voices being carried away by a breeze that isn't there. It fills the once quiet night within seconds, the noise and shine like the festival that took place mere hours before.

The redhead blinks his eye once, twice, and pivots in place to get a good look at what is unfurling around him. Stars are still falling around him and instead of scorch marks being left when they hit the ground; they hop forward like skipping pebbles on the surface of water. He feels like he's imagining it when they form small and translucent bodies and join each other in circles, childlike voices rising in songs that he doesn't know the words to and can't even being to figure out.

It all feels like a dream, but a Bookman cannot afford the inability to distinguish illusions from reality so he knows he is very much awake and is a witness to something grand and otherworldly. It is something that needs to go on paper as soon as he gets to his ink and journal and he curses himself for not having the foresight to bring the materials with him before he left. Maybe he can jot down a few sketches before the images leave his mind as well; an event like this is not easily explained in words.

Instead of going back to his supplies like he probably should, there is a feeling of compulsion that urges the teen to cup his hands together and hold them out. It is a practically childish drive, like tilting his heads back when it rains to catch water in his mouth. Lavi does not know exactly why he does it, but his efforts are rewarded when in his hands falls a shimmering star (he isn't sure if he can even call them that at this point) almost like it was ready to be caught by whoever was willing to take the chance.

It is warm weight nestled in the palms of his hands and it has a gently thrumming nature to it, almost like it's alive. Congratulations. You did it. Congratulations. A voice soft and laced with laughter speaks through his bones and whispers soft in his ears.

It is shocking to realize the star might really have a voice, but even more so is the bright light that emits from the object in his hands without warning. Lavi closes his eye and turns his head away from the glow, one part out of shock and three parts due to the instinctive need to keep his only eye from any damage. Whatever is currently happening is warm against his skin, like a comfortable summer breeze in the middle of June.

The feeling does not last long however, ending as soon as it began. All that's left is the cool feeling of the night air and a gently laugh that he hears clearly over the hymnals of dancing remainders of light still celebrating on and near the lake. Lavi turns his head back forward, preparing himself for something, he doesn't know what to expect at this point.

He surely doesn't expect to find hands resting in his upturned palms, smaller than his own and hidden beneath white gloves, they belong to a boy who is shorter and slighter than he is. The hair white like moonlight, which glimmers just the same, is unnatural on someone that appears so young and the sable raiments trimmed with white-gold that the person wears seem more expensive than anything Lavi's ever seen before. It is surprising to see a scar what burns a harsh and angry red across otherwise pale features, but what is one more surprise and shock tonight?

"Who are you?" Lavi finds himself speaking in a whisper of disbelief in part due to what's happening around him, falling stars that sang and a boy born from one. He can feel the interest curling in his own tone and has to hold back the barrage of questions that stick at the back of his throat. He's a Bookman after all and should know better than to rush for information in a delicate situation.

The stranger blinks blue grey eyes and wears an expression like he doesn't know how to answer the presented question or hasn't been asked such a thing in a long time and is caught off guard. (And maybe he hasn't, Lavi isn't sure what to think at this moment and can't make too clear theorizations until all his thoughts are sorted out properly.)The boy tilts his head, brows furrow, and pink lips come together, all in thought it seems. He hums a few seconds later, shrugs a shoulder in an idyllic nature, and the fabric only makes the softest of whispers from the of the movement but the black shimmers to a grey like there's starlight threaded in the fabric.

"You," he pauses and Lavi can feel how scrutinizing the look is before eye contact is focused once again and a smile given. "can call me Allen." His voice is lilting, carrying an accent that hails from London proper, which only serves to add to the oddities surround the night.

Lavi, who has had forty-nine names to this date, all of which were fake and necessary, can tell the name proffered to him is a false one. It seems to fit just the same regardless of its origin. He isn't quite sure how, but that's just how proper fake names ought to work, with some level of truth in the syntax and feel of it to be believable enough not to question outright or raise eyebrows.

"Lavi." The redhead offers the name he will soon get rid of in return, with a smile he gives to all strangers automatically slipping in place.

If Allen can detect the not quite truth of that name or how fake the smile actually is, then it does not show on his features. Lavi thinks for small and fleeting second that this will be interesting for however long it lasts.

(Oh, how lovely it is watching the universe align for them.)


A/N:

and that's a wrap for the first chapter and that you all so much for taking the time to read it. i have a good and clear idea of how i want this story to end and some of the pieces in between so i'm very excited to see this out to the end and i hope y'all are willing to stick around for it.