Before the world was measured in names and borders, before time was bound to numbers, there were still places shaped by dreams.
In the heart of the eternal forest, one tree dreamed of stars, an ancient witness to the hush of starlit silence. While others reached for the sun and scorched themselves in pursuit, this tree turned inward, drawing constellations down into its roots. Not to possess them, but to cradle them.
In its bark, a galaxy bloomed. Stars drifted in slow spirals, as if the tree itself were breathing light. Most passed it by, too hurried or too hollow to notice. They saw only bark and shadow.
But children? Children of all ages almost always found it. And today, a child in a red cloak stand there, wide-eyed and silent, letting the tree remember the stars in his dreams.