Prologue

Hushed voices, quiet mews. Whiskers covered in stardust twitched in conversation, pelts translucent but bright, each their own star in the sky. Gossip, friendly chatter over a quick bite. StarClan was well, StarClan was healthy, and that was how things were meant to be.

But that was a moon ago, and this full moon the clouds had shadowed it, raining darkness on distressed cats at Fourtrees. The Clans quickly dismissed, separating until they were all, once again, four different Clans with tension between their scent lines. As they returned to their camp, leaders called meetings, and sleepy cats stepped out of their dens with their eyes wide and their tails quivering. News was delivered; various cats hissed and yowled their distress and defiance. The territories were loud that night bathed in darkness.

StarClan was much quieter with its arguments, bristling pelts and hisses whispered in ears.

"Is that allowed?"

"Can that be done?"

"Should we have stopped it?"

One cat, ragged and worn and faded much more than the rest, hissed out a warning for all the cats to fall silent. And they did, their respect for the ancient cat hushing them and swamping their anger. As she stepped up to the flat rock that all the cats seemed to be gathered around, she gave one lash of her tail, narrowing amber eyes into slits.

"This is allowed," she grunted, voice holding enough authority to quiet cats that were usually spitting their defiance by now. Cats bit their tongues to stay silent, their tensing muscles and raising fur not the only signs to their anger. Eyes sweeping over the crowd once, the old she-cat continued. "He performed the ceremony correctly; why wouldn't he be allowed to do that?"

One brave cat raised their voice. "Then why isn't he bold enough to face us?"

The she-cat's eyes clouded, one ear flicking in annoyance. "He does not reside here," she meowed, though a twitch of her whiskers kept the cats from crying out. "You young cats are naïve, thinking StarClan is the only place dead cats go."

"The Place of No Stars?" A whisper of a young cat, his size piercing the old she-cat's heart like a bramble thorn; he died too young. But when she shook her head, the little tabby's eyes clouded with confusion.

"He will be here," the ancient cat muttered, tongue passing over her tongue. "He will be here." A flick of her tail dismissed the cats, and although they were reluctant, the cats of StarClan obeyed. A few mutters passed here and there, chattering filling every cat's ears. Only some sentences were loud enough to be understood.

"That crazy old flea never makes any sense!"

"Why wouldn't Olivestar come to StarClan? He's been nothing but good!"

"She's just spouting nonsense again, isn't she?"

But the "crazy old flea" paid no mind; she had a task at hand. With a soft blink, a stream bubbled at her paws, and although as much as she wished it she could not feel it, could not disturb its surface as she padded across. Her muscles rippled beneath her pelt despite her apparent old age and ragged appearance. The heather and grass did not move for her; it did not prick at her pelt. The scents and smells, however, were nostalgic enough to cloud her mind for a brief moment, allowing her amber eyes to sweep over the terrain of the moor. While she hadn't been a WindClan cat, the moor was always her home, and she supported the Clan who had taken it as refuge.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, the she-cat's eyes glinted with determination. Paws forced forward, barely a fur's width above the dirt. Amber eyes lit up with pride as she recognized the slope that led up to the dip that made the crater; WindClan's camp. While she didn't necessarily need to use the entrance, she respected the Clan's ways, squeezing into the hole in the heather as though it would tug at her fur and leave clumps. But, of course, it did not.

Her paws took her slowly across camp, relishing in the sounds of still life. A snore from the elders' den, a whisper of "Shut up, Dewpaw!" from the apprentices' den, the shifting of a warrior dreaming of chasing a delicious mouse – all were music to the ancient cat's ears. Her tail quivered behind her, wondering what it would have been like to have lived a warrior's life. Perhaps her destiny would, one day, cause her to live once again. But not right now, she told herself, shaking her head in determination.

At last, a hole in the ground sheltered by heather and ferns was in front of the old she-cat. Taking in a deep breath, she padded inside, narrowing her eyes; no longer did she have to wait to adjust to the darkness. What she found was a mottled white she-cat, pacing, counting herbs, distressed. The news had unnerved the Clans, surely, but this Clan – this Clan the ragged she-cat wanted to put to rest.

A leaf drifted inside, catching on the medicine cat's pelt. She did not question logic – no leaf could have gotten through the heather and ferns – and instead shook it off stubbornly. Ears flicking, the old she-cat let herself chuckle. The young cat could not see nor hear her – not yet.

With a twitch of the old cat's whiskers, the tip of the leaf caught fire. It took a moment, but the medicine cat's eyes widened, a small exclamation leaving her mouth as she jumped back in surprise. When she landed her forepaws on the fire to put it out, she found that it did not burn – but it did not waver, either. Realization sparked in the white cat's eyes, and she tilted her head, amazed.

Finally, the ancient's words could be heard clearly, ringing in the other cat's ears: "A flame cannot be quenched, even by great darkness."

And then the flame flickered as though wind was disturbing it, and it disappeared, leaving the leaf untouched. As the young she-cat inspected it, she let out a surprised mew at finding no burn marks on it. Her blue eyes glanced around, searching the den, brushing past the ragged cat in search for the source of the words – the StarClan cat. However, she would not find her.

With content, the she-cat heaved a sigh and faded. StarClan would welcome her as always, but she had somewhere else to be.