Lansberge must be in the shrine. The house was completely silent. Ivy passed by Dione’s room and stepped outside. The door was unlocked. The cold air filled his lungs. He had almost forgotten how cold it was outside, given the warmth inside the house. Wrapping his arms around himself, he headed toward the shrine without any particular reason. Earlier, the two moons had been side by side, but now only the white moon moved, creating distance between them. He heard trees rustling and distant birds singing. The quiet, crisp air refreshed him. If only it weren’t so cold, he would want to stand there forever.

  “It’s cold out here. Come inside.”

  Suddenly, a voice broke the silence, and Ivy, who had been enjoying the stillness, came to his senses. The priest stood at the entrance of the shrine.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you, but I just couldn’t sleep.”

  The priest descended the stairs and gently urged Ivy inside with a soft push on his back.

  “I had a feeling you’d come.”

  Lansberge led Ivy to the entrance, retrieved a long silver key attached to a black string from his pocket, inserted it into the symbol-adorned keyhole, and turned it. Hearing a click, he returned the key to his pocket.

  “It’s designed to lock automatically each time it’s opened and closed. Quite troublesome,”

  He opened the door and gestured for Ivy to enter before him. Ivy was astonished by the view inside the dome. The high ceiling was adorned with intricate designs made from gleaming tiles, and various spheres, both large and small, hung and spun gracefully. The floor appeared to be made of blue stone, matching the ceiling, with patterns drawn upon it. Along the upper walls, candlesticks were spaced at regular intervals, their lights reflecting off the spheres, creating a mesmerizing effect. The warmth inside matched that of the house.

  “This is beautiful,”

  “I agree,” Lansberge replied. “It’s designed to represent the universe.”

  “The universe,” Ivy repeated, the word unfamiliar yet resonant.

  “Yes,” Lansberge continued, “it’s the space filled with stars, including our planet.”

  The concept of the universe felt oddly familiar to Ivy. He had often wandered through such spaces in his dreams, and now he had a name for it.

  At the far end of the dome stood a small door. Lansberge opened it and stepped through, Ivy following. Inside was a dead-end, but before them stood another ladder. Looking up, Ivy noticed this ladder ascended higher than he had expected, likely leading to the tower’s entrance behind the dome.

  “Climbing up and down this is quite laborious,”

  He began ascending, Ivy close behind. The priest’s shoes echoed against the steps. The wall beside the ladder was lined with bookshelves, filled with numerous books. Many were beautifully bound, some with titles in foreign scripts Ivy didn’t recognize. Reaching the top, Lansberge pushed open a ceiling hatch and entered. The room above was another dome, smaller than the first, featuring small windows on each side, a desk, a shelf with a few books, and a bed just long enough for an adult to fit. At the center, a large silver cylinder protruded through a hole in the ceiling. Lansberge motioned for Ivy to sit on the bed while he took the room’s only chair. Ivy waited for the priest to speak, but he remained silent. Taking the initiative, Ivy began.

  “I saw a bright light at the snow festival.”

  Lansberge turned to look at Ivy, nodding as if encouraging him to continue.

  “Everyone said thunderclouds appeared, making it dark, but I saw the sky brighten with rainbow-colored light, and an eagle soaring in the sky. And the blue moon—I had seen it in my dreams before. The same with the red star. I’ve often dreamed of wandering through space, the universe.”

  He was afraid that Lansberge would think he was insane and tried to gauge his reaction. The priest did not show any amazement; he simply began speaking.

  “You can receive the memories of stars.”

  Ivy looked at his face in confusion.

  “The memories of stars?”

  Lansberge nodded.

  “There are two types of priests: ‘salo’ and ‘the bird’. Salos study stars from all perspectives, researching them, and are trained by the government to predict various events based on the movements of stars. It’s very hard to enter the priest academy. You have to be highly capable; don’t take it as me bragging, though.”

  Lansberge chuckled shyly.

  “As for the birds, they are also well-educated and excellent. But there’s one difference between the two. Only those who have the gift to receive the memories of stars can be birds. That gift is very rare. Currently, there’s one bird in the central shrine.”

  “What do you mean by ‘receive the memories of stars’?”

  “I don’t know exactly what it means either, since I don’t have the gift. A star emits fragments not only when it explodes but continuously, little by little. Each fragment contains various memories of its own. A fragment is too small for a person to sense, but sometimes it makes someone see memories, though they don’t realize it and think of it as a dream. Birds are excellent at sensing these. They can see the fragments of stars with their eyes or acquire knowledge of the universe, like you. If you cultivate your skill, you can learn anything from those stars.”

  “I don’t think I have the gift. I’m not good at studying or sports. I think it was just a coincidence that I had such dreams.”

  He couldn’t imagine he had such a gift.

  “Maybe or maybe not. But I feel that the eagle bringing you here was some kind of implication.”

  Lansberge smiled gently at Ivy, who cast his eyes down. Lansberge stood up and turned the wheel attached to the wall. The ceiling began to move and slid apart. He then approached the silver cylinder protruding from the ceiling and adjusted it. The cylinder remained anchored, only tilting. Lansberge looked into the cylinder and turned a knob on it. Then he faced Ivy.

  “Look into it.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Ivy stood up and did as he was told. Before his eyes was a collapsing ring of light. The center was bright, the outer side was blurred and rolling, stretching out.

  “That is the blue moon. Looking through this, it never appears as a moon.”

  Ivy gazed into the ring with amazement. It was very beautiful. He wondered if that was a baby star.

  “This is a telescope. It lets you see distant objects clearly. The priests use this to observe the night sky. Today, the view isn’t clear enough because of the blue moon.”

  Ivy took his face off the telescope and looked at the priest.

  “Honestly, I’m jealous of you. We Salos can only see a limited view of a star through this tube, whereas you can observe whatever you want, in any size, as much as you want.”

  “No, I can’t see whatever I want. I just glimpse it. I do see a beautiful starry sky at times, but most of it consists of unfamiliar things that I can’t explain.”

  “That’s absolutely natural. The universe is filled with unknowns. You can’t see as you like because your skill isn’t sophisticated yet. If you receive training at the priest academy, you might become a talented Bird. If you’d like, I can write a recommendation.”

  “Will I become a priest?” Ivy was taken aback, gazing at Lansberge. The idea was entirely beyond his imagination.

  “But I’m really bad at everything. I’m not as smart as Tesus or Alma, nor as tough as Tabby. I’m very ignorant and slow to understand things. Only an excellent person can become a priest, right? Then, I’m the last person suited for it.”

  “Your ability to receive the memories of stars is indeed a gift. By ‘excellent,’ I don’t mean someone who is good at studying,” Lansberge explained, his eyes narrowing gently.

  “If there’s something else you’d like to pursue, go after it. You’re young; you have the potential to become anything.”

  Something else Ivy wanted to do…

  Do I have something I want to do in the future? Working at the town factory, taking over his parents’ bakery—he had thought his path would be either of the two. Though he had only one more year to decide, he hadn’t given it much thought, feeling it was a distant concern. He felt that Tesus, who wanted to study at a university; Alma, who was interested in many things and planning to attend a high school; and Tabby, who was determined to work at the factory, were all far ahead of him.

  I want to work in a big city, like Cobe. He had always harbored this desire. Taking the train, watching the sea view from the window, he imagined living alone in a distant city. But he had never voiced this wish, considering it beyond his means and feeling embarrassed to express it aloud.

  “Using your skill is marvelous, of course. But I also consider it a talent to find something you enjoy and pursue it with effort,” Lansberge continued, observing Ivy, who had lowered his gaze.

  “I wasn’t good at living down there, so I became a priest. I was never good at socializing, but fortunately, I was good at studying. I attended high school, learned about the priesthood, and pursued it. I entered the academy on a scholarship. I studied hard—very hard. I passed the exam and was assigned to this shrine.”

  “I don’t think you’re bad at getting along with people.”

  “Ah, maybe it’s because I’ve been content since coming here—I can finally be myself. Becoming a priest, a respected role, gave me confidence too, I suppose. I couldn’t speak well with anyone; I even avoided making eye contact. I was twisted, thinking people would hate talking to me. I didn’t do anything to overcome that. Still, I envied everyone around me, was jealous all the time, and felt like a pitiful man. Eventually, I made an effort and became who I wanted to be, so I don’t have to envy anyone anymore. What meant a lot to me was Tabby.”

  “Tabby?”

  “He’s so cheerful and innocent. Watching him made me think about how a person should be. I do wonder when he learned to speak so bluntly, though.”

  Lansberge chuckled.

  “So do I. Both you and Dione speak so elegantly.”

  “I suppose that’s because of the driver of Perm.”

  Lansberge smiled, then returned to a serious expression.

  “Tabby was brought to this shrine for a reason. He was an orphan.”

  Ivy nodded. The priest was gazing out the window, which was slightly brighter than before.

  “Priests aren’t allowed to discuss their work—even with their families. That sometimes puts families in difficult situations. But I never thought about having a family anyway.”

  Ivy understood that when an adult man said “family,” it usually meant his wife and children. Before he could ask why, the priest continued.

  “As I said earlier, I thought I was a pitiful person. A pitiful person doesn’t deserve a family—that’s what I believed. And I didn’t think I could take on such a great responsibility.”

  “Is having a family a heavy responsibility?”

  “It is. Very heavy. So I intended to live alone. Then Tabby came to us. Dione and I raised him frantically. She had been away from raising children for a long time and didn’t remember much of it. That was hard indeed, but Tabby taught me a lot as he grew up. I had been worried that if a pitiful man raised a child, the child would become pitiful too. But eventually, he became a great child who can make decisions on his own. It turned out that I was the one who was raised and taught.”

  “Why did you say he couldn’t come back to the shrine?”

  Ivy asked what he had been wanting to know. The priest sighed.

  “Because my role was done. He is now grown up perfectly, and I don’t see him fitting to be a priest. Why does he need to come here now? I’m not his father; I should let go of him.”

  “But he sees you as his father. If a child leaves their parents, they can still visit them every now and then.”

  “No, he doesn’t see me as a father. He can find his place wherever he is. He doesn’t need me, or won’t.”

  At the priest’s sudden desolate tone, Ivy became bewildered. He remembered how glad Tabby had looked when he saw Lansberge here. Would Tabby not need him someday? Ivy didn’t think so. Like his brother Cobe, it wasn’t unusual for a child to leave their parents and rarely see them, but it was never usual for them to not need their parents. Family is family after all.

  “Tabby does like you. He looked sad when he said he couldn’t come back; he has to miss you.”

  Lansberge looked surprised.

  “He misses me only at first.”

  He murmured, his eyes lowered.

  Outside, the thin mist blurred the surroundings, but it was already bright. The eastern sky above the mountains was marked by a clear orange line. Suddenly exposed to the cold air, Ivy shivered.

  “It’s cold out here. This shrine and the house are equipped with moira wires, which is rare, to keep them warm all year round. The properties are well-maintained to ensure the priest’s comfort.”

  The priest grinned and draped a thick coat over Ivy’s shoulders.

  “Oh,” Ivy exclaimed, looking up. The blue moon still shone in the sky, its rays strong enough to sting his eyes, even brighter than before, while the white moon had disappeared.

  “The final light of a star is so intense that it can be seen even during daylight. The star will remain visible for a while.”

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They walked around the property for a while. The morning dew on the grass glittered in the sunlight; it was beautiful. It was Ivy’s first time witnessing a dawn from high up on a mountain. Living on a mountain, gazing at the starry sky every night, watching beautiful dawns, taking naps during the day, and occasionally visiting the city for shopping seemed quite appealing to him. However, he still doubted he possessed such a gift and didn’t think he could become one. Just imagining it made him somewhat excited. Perhaps there was a possibility, however slim. The sky opposite the sun was entirely indigo, and he wondered if the towns below were still dark. The wind rustled the leaves above. A large tree with wide-spreading branches, chrono, stood behind the shrine. His breath turned white in the air. Chrono leaves were blown off by the wind, falling and staining the ground purple. It was very cold, but he wanted to continue watching the scenery without blinking.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  The priest said, also looking up at the chrono. “In winter, it turns a brilliant purple. On sunny days, Dione, Tabby, and I sometimes have lunch here together, watching it.” He narrowed his eyes as if recalling memories. Ivy realized from his tone that the priest didn’t want Tabby to leave.

  “What did Tabby think of life here?”

  The priest murmured, “Every time he mentioned this place, he seemed happy. He often talked about you, Dione, and how he played here, like visiting the stream. This is his home, after all. I could tell by the way he spoke.”

  “You think so?”

  “He said you told him not to come back when he looked very sad.”

  Upon hearing this, the priest crossed his arms over his chest and sighed.

  “I’m still a pitiable man. I’ve grown used to being avoided, but I never thought I could hurt someone by doing so.” He looked away from Ivy.

  “It’s morning. You haven’t slept. The car will arrive by noon. Will you sleep until then?”

  “No, I’m wide awake. I’ll stay awake until then.”

  Ivy then asked, “Isn’t your job tough?”

  “Every job has its challenges,” the priest replied, “no matter how talented you are or how much you enjoy it.”