The Epoch of Kepler
Snowtap
Chapter 2
Lying awake on his narrow bed, Kepler stared up at his translucent canopy. Tiny luminescent dots were woven into the fabric, depicting the stars visible from Maerun. They glowed dimly in hues of blue and green, shifting gently like fireflies caught drifting in a slow dance with the crisp night air.
The little room he shared with his little sister was modest, with bare walls made of smooth, polished stone that retained the day's warmth. Shelves lined one side, cluttered with dust collectors like a stack of newspaper comics, some attractive rocks, deconstructed mechanical devices he had tinkered with, and a book of plants and animals native to their area.
Despite the familiar comforts, he couldn't keep his eyes closed. The hum of nocturnal creatures sang gently through the window, a sound that often lulled him into slumber, but seemed eerily distant tonight. His thoughts were a tempest, swirling with emotions he couldn't quite tame.
The heavy glow from his window drew his attention. He sat up slowly, pushing aside a lightweight blanket interwoven with silvery fibers that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The cool stone floor sent a shiver up his spine as his bare feet touched down.
Kepler crossed over to the window, a square opening fitted with a meager pane of glass on a shaky hinged frame kipped open at the bottom. He pressed a palm against it, feeling subtle vibrations from the world outside. The landscape was bathed in the ethereal light of Petralum, which dominated the night sky. The gas giant, as large as Kepler's outstretched fist, loomed overhead with its endless swirling bands.
Tonight, Petralum was at its fullest, reflecting the distant sun's rays onto Maerun's surface. Shadows were sharp, and the brightly colored plants that dotted the terrain seemed muted under the planet's brilliance.
Kepler sighed deeply. Tomorrow was his twelfth birthday, but there was no joy in the thought. Tomorrow also marked one year since the death of his best friend Cynthia, a wound that hadn't healed, a weight he seemed to carry every moment since.
He closed his eyes and the memories came flooding back. They had explored the wilderness together, shared secrets, and dreamed of adventures beyond Maerun.
But one decision ended it all. He couldn't stop replaying that day in his mind: the excitement of his birthday, her demands for a rite-of-passage, the smooth surface of the water. He had hesitated, fear paralyzing him, and in that crucial moment, Cynthia was lost.
Kepler clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms. Every joyful moment, every success, every celebration was squashed under the weight pressing on his chest. Cynthia's face flashed in his mind, her eyes searching his in that moment, her final word echoing.
"Coward".
He couldn't escape it.
The memory clung to him like a shadow he couldn't outrun.
A faint creak pulled him from his thoughts.
"Kepler?" whispered his sister.
He forced a slight smile. "Hey, Desi. Shouldn't you be asleep?"
She was standing beside her bed, her nightgown fluttering around her ankles. At eight years old, Desi was a typically bundle of energy, curiosity, and compassion. Her dark hair framed her face in loose curls, and her hazel eyes reflected concern.
"I could ask you the same," she said gently, climbing onto his bed.
He shrugged, leaning against the windowsill. "Just thinking."
"About Cynthia?" she asked.
Kepler hesitated before nodding. "Yeah."
Desi hugged her knees to her chest. "I miss her, too."
He turned to look at her. "I know."
"She was always nice to me," she said. "Remember when she got my kite down from the tree?"
A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "If by getting it down you mean falling as she ripped it off a branch, then yeah, I remember. She was always good at stuff like that."
Desi looked down at her hands. "It's not your fault, you know."
Kepler's jaw tightened. "That's what everyone says. It's more complicated than that though."
She looked up, her eyes meeting his. "I know you're sad, and I don't like seeing you sad."
He swallowed his emotions to keep them from threatening to spill over. "Thanks, Desi."
She slid off the bed and crossed the room to him. "Papa's leaving early tomorrow," she said, changing the subject.
"I know," Kepler replied, glancing toward the doorway. "He's probably asleep already."
"Are you going to see him first?"
He hesitated. "I don't know."
Desi placed a petite hand on his arm. "He'll be sad if you don't."
Kepler sighed. "Maybe."
They stood together in silence for a moment letting Petralum cast their shadows onto the floor.
"Well, I'm going back to bed," Desi announced finally. "You should try to sleep, too."
"I will," he promised, though he wasn't sure he meant it.
She gave him a quick hug before slipping back into her bed, the floor creaking just as it had when she first stirred.
Alone again, Kepler returned his attention to the window. In the distance, the forest, a sea of golden leaves undulating in the night breeze, beckoned. The trees of Maerun were tall and slender, their bark smooth and shimmering faintly under Petralum's light. Swaying flora dotted the undergrowth, casting a mosaic of colors that shifted with every movement.
He thought about his father preparing for the journey to Snowtap, an orbital ring that connected all the major cities of Maerun. Johan had worked so hard to get his tickets.
Kepler should have been excited, proud even. But instead, he felt a twinge of resentment. His father was leaving on his birthday, the day he dreaded most. It felt like abandonment, another person slipping away when he needed them.
He shook his head, chiding himself for the thought. Johan was strict, but he had always been a supportive father. He was patient, understanding, and encouraging of Kepler's interests in tinkering and exploration. He knew deep down that his father's departure wasn't a slight against him, but the bitterness lingered nonetheless.
A sudden gust rattled the windowpane, startling Kepler. He stepped back, rubbing his arms against the chill that seeped into the room. Deciding that sleep might be his best escape, he returned to his bed and pulled the blanket up to his chin.
As he closed his eyes, the familiar constellations above seemed to blur and shift. His mind drifted, unwillingly, back to the memories he tried so hard to suppress.
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