The Cosmos within

The sky above was not black, but a suffocating shade of bruised indigo, stretched impossibly tight across a void that felt entirely devoid of air.

Nayara stood barefoot on the cracked, porcelain-white earth of a barren plain. Beneath her feet, the ground hummed with a low, sub-audible vibration, as if something ancient and massive were breathing beneath the stone crust. A gentle breeze blew, lifting her dress and hair, making her look ethereal. She looked upward, her eyes widening as they adjusted to the twilight. Sprawled across the zenith were four distinct moons, suspended like luminous, milky eyes watching her every move.

The largest moon hung low and swollen on the horizon, its surface scarred by rivers of cobalt dust. To its left, a crescent moon burned with an icy, pale radiance. The remaining two were smaller, twin specks of polished quartz, dancing in a slow, locked orbit around one another. Their silver and blue light washed over the landscape, casting strange, quad-directional shadows that stretched, overlapped, and fractured across the pale dirt.

There were no trees here. No grass, no wind, no scent of rain. Just an infinite expanse of chalky dust and jagged obsidian spires thrusting up from the earth like broken ribs.

Then, the stillness shattered.

A sound tore through the quiet—a rasping, liquid growl that vibrated straight through Nayara’s chest. It didn’t come from the horizon; it felt close, impossibly close.

She turned slowly, every muscle in her body coiling into static panic. Emerging from behind a jagged spire of black glass was a shape that defied natural order. It moved with the terrifying fluid grace of a apex hunter, but its silhouette shifted continuously against the quad-moonlight. It had no distinct face—only a jaw that unhinged too wide, lined with rows of needle-thin teeth that glinted like liquid mercury. Where its eyes should have been, twin hollows wept ribbons of dark, ink-like smoke that drifted upward toward the four moons.

The predator raised its head, sniffing the thin air, and locked its void-like gaze precisely where Nayara stood.

Run.

The thought wasn’t a vocalized voice; it was a instinctual jolt through her blood. Nayara turned and ran. Her bare feet slapped against the cold stone, cutting into the chalky earth. The air burned in her lungs—sharp, dry, and tasting faintly of copper and ash. Behind her, the heavy, rhythmic thud of the creature’s limbs striking the earth grew louder, accompanied by the wet, clicking sound of its breath.

To her right, the base of a towering obsidian ridge gaped open: a narrow, pitch-black fissure in the stone. A cave.

Driven by sheer survival, she threw her body into the opening, scraping her arms against the razor-sharp rock edges as she squeezed through the tight slit. She tumbled onto the cool, smooth stone floor inside, scrambling backward into the dark until her shoulder blades hit a solid rock wall. She pressed her hand over her mouth, forcing her ragged breath into silence, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Outside the slit, the heavy footsteps slowed. A shadowy, shifting mass passed across the faint moonlight filtering through the entrance. The creature paused, sniffing the air at the cave’s mouth, its low growl rattling the loose pebbles on the cave floor. Nayara squeezed her eyes shut, melting into the shadows, praying to be invisible. Praying for the darkness to hide her.

“Unfurl your mantle, Nayara. It has always belonged to you.”

The voice did not come from outside the cave. It came from the deepest corner of the gloom, right beside her.

Nayara’s eyes snapped open. The predator outside was gone, as if swallowed whole by the silence. But the cave was no longer empty.

Sitting cross-legged on a polished slab of shadow was a woman. Her skin was the color of a starless sky, absorbed light rather than reflecting it, yet she radiated an undeniable, electric energy. Her hair spun out around her head like chaotic solar flares, constantly shifting and crackling with static electricity. She wore a robe woven from crimson thread and tarnished silver, suspended in a state of perpetual motion, as if swept by an unseen storm.

In her right hand, the woman cradled a single object.

It was an apple—carved not from fruit, but from a deep, velvety purple stone that seemed to pulse with an inner violet flame. Intricate golden motifs spiraled across its surface: chaotic constellations, tangled vines, and sharp, geometric sigils that moved and rewove themselves across the violet skin like living gold.

The woman looked up, her eyes blazing with an unholy, mischievous amber light. A sharp, crooked smile parted her dark lips.

“Eris...” Nayara whispered, the name slipping from her tongue instinctively, though she had no conscious recollection of ever learning it.

“Oh, you remember my name, sweet night?” the goddess purred, her voice sounding like dry leaves blowing across marble steps mixed with the faint chime of gold coins.

Eris leaned forward, the purple apple held loosely in her palm. The golden sigils on its surface flared bright, casting long, twisting shadows across the cave walls—shadows that resembled towering wings, a starry crown, and a throne made of deep, endless abyss.

“You’ve been asleep so long, hiding in the dust of the Nile, wearing the skin of mortals,” Eris murmured, her voice dropping into a thrilling, terrible whisper that echoed directly inside Nayara’s skull.

She reached out with a long, slender finger, touching the center of Nayara’s forehead. The tip of her finger was ice-cold, yet it sent a wave of searing, liquid fire pouring through Nayara’s veins.

Eris leaned closer, her breath smelling of pomegranate and lightning, and tilted the golden-threaded purple apple toward Nayara’s eyes.

“The cosmos is unraveling without your shadows to balance their light,” Eris whispered, her amber eyes burning into Nayara’s very soul.

“Remember...”

Nayara gasped, as the ground gave way beneath her. She fell for a long time as the shapes overhead twisted and vanished into darkness.

The drop was endless. Nayara plummeted through a bruised, violent sky, falling past spiraling clouds of violet dust and shattering pillars of black glass. There was no wind to catch her, no air to fill her lungs—only the terrifying, weightless terror of an infinite descent into an alien landscape.

Below her, the strange planet stretched out like a sleeping leviathan. Obsidian mountain ranges coiled beneath seas of liquid starlight, and luminescent flora pulsed in dark, rhythmic waves along crimson plains. It was a world untouched by mortal hands, ancient and indifferent to her presence.

And then, the whisper came.

It didn’t echo through the atmosphere; it vibrated inside her bones, striking her mind like a heavy iron bell.

"Remember who you are."

She tried to scream, but the sound dissolved into static. The landscape rushed up to meet her—jagged peaks of dark crystal looming closer, ready to tear her mortal shell to pieces. Images flashed behind her eyelids at blinding speed: a crown woven from dead stars, the suffocating silence before the universe drew its first breath, and an ocean of velvet night that bowed to her command.

"Remember who you are."

The voice roared louder, layering over itself—part fragile human tear, part cosmic thunder. The strange planet beneath her seemed to shudder in response, its liquid seas rising to meet her falling form, reaching out like dark, welcoming hands.

She wasn’t falling to her death. She was returning.

Nayara opened her eyes wide as the black ocean swallowed her, the cold water wrapping around her skin like a long-lost velvet cloak.

Next thing that she realised ,she was on what seemed to be yet another world. This one seemed alive compared to the previous one.

Air rushed into her lungs with a violent, ragged sob. She clutched her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs at a terrifying pace.

She was in a room. The soft sunlight of a Nubian morning was just beginning to seep through the woven reeds of her window blinds, casting warm, familiar amber lines across her small bedroom. The familiar scents of dried lavender, river silt, and brewing hibiscus tea drifted in from the courtyard.

Yet she was completely drenched in cold, heavy sweat. Her nightshirt clung to her skin like a damp shroud, and her hands were trembling so violently she could barely hold them flat against her mattress.

She looked down at her hands—her rich, dark brown skin catching the morning light. She slowly pressed her palms together, trying to wash away the lingering sensation of cosmic cold and shifting shadows.

" Remember.”

That word again.

" What do I need to remember?” She asked in frustration. ” Why is it always, Remember and yet you never tell me what I need to remember?!” She asked as she got angrier.

She gasped as everything disappeared. She was falling again. Only this time it was in a void, with the surrounding stars. She woke up gasping in her bed.

She looked around the semi-darkness. Relieved that it was only a dream. It was always the same dream though. Maybe she needed to see the ship therapist. She wondered idly if these persistent dreams would interfere with her ability to work. She stretched out and decided to leave her bed.

When she brought her fingers to her face to wipe away the sweat, she froze.

Scattered across her palms was a fine, shimmering dust—shimmering blue and white under the morning sun, tasting faintly of copper and chalk.

And high above her head, etched into her memory deeper than any ordinary dream, the echo of that velvet voice remained, vibrating through her bone marrow:

“Remember.”

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