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You know, this place used to have stars.
I remember the way they lit up the sky. An eternal, majestic painting of yellows, whites, and blues. A most beautiful light in the everlasting darkness. I could stare at it for hours, lying in the soft sand as I drifted to sleep. And I would wake up to them too.
Back on Earth, stars are giant flaming spheres of hydrogen and helium, objects of science that gave the universe sparks of color. Back on Earth, stars don’t have souls. But not here. Here they had life. This I know. I could feel it shining down on me as I met their gazes, the way they gave me warmth. The way they gave me life. And if I listened closely enough, I could almost hear them whispering the secrets of the cosmos above.
Their light guided me, in a way. They guided all of us, like lost sheep in a forest. They made me feel… more. Shone something into us that we never found within ourselves.
I was the runt of the litter, a speck of dust to be blown in the wind. I wandered these lands unsure of my fate. The stars held my hand when I was at my lowest, a generosity that I could only dream of returning.
The stars were my life.
I remember the day they vanished. It replays in my mind as clear as days that no longer exist.
I watched as they fizzled away, like the last breaths of a dying animal. One by one they faded from life, and slowly but surely, we were plunged into a lightless world. I could feel as their spirits bled into the nothing, replaced only by the piercing silence of a ravaged sky.
People panicked. It was hard not to. We had heard the news from the outer realms, but still it was inconceivable as a possibility here. After all, it was already night, wasn’t it? Surely the twinkle of spots in the sky would still be left against the chaos, would they not? We hoped the stars would be strong enough. Strong enough to fight against the raging darkness, just like they always had.
And yet no amount of hope brought them back.
I don’t know for how long we stared at the dying sky in draining silence. It might as well have been forever. I’m not sure why.
That’s when the first star fell from the sky.
It was unnoticeable at first, appeared as but a speck in the looming darkness, lit up only by the ghost light of the few remaining stars. No fire engulfed its form, not even a single spark to light its surface. But then it got closer, and closer, and closer.
And a gargantuan husk of starlight broke the ocean’s surface in a deafening explosion of water. The first of the dead stars, it sunk into the depths of an ocean where even the fish do not dare to swim, never to be seen again. I could hear the screams of those around me as the first wave broke shore and enacted its wrath. I was lucky, so very lucky, given a chance to run, given a final breath of life by the last light of the stars above.
And so I ran.
And ran and ran and ran. Ran as fast as my limbs could carry me. I don’t know where, I don’t know for how long, but I ran, and I ran, and I ran. Up to somewhere safe, somewhere where I could get away from it all, away from the damnation of my home.
I couldn’t see anything that night. Not a single photon fell upon my pupils. But I could hear everything. Hear every upturning of a boulder, every shriek that pierced through the darkness. But none of that mattered. I could do nothing for them.
So I ran.
And I ran.
And I ran. And I crawled into a little hole on the boundary of nowhere, too helpless and too scared. Somewhere safe, somewhere silent. Somewhere where I could pretend that none of it was happening. Buried myself in a place so dark and deep not even the spirits of the dead could find me. A place where nothing happened and nothing mattered.
I don’t know what day it was when I finally crawled out of there. The scent of the wild grazed my nostrils once more, like it always had for years. But this time, no light accompanied it.
I didn’t even know where I was by then, but the sound of my breathing finally wasn’t drumming in my ears. So I just walked. Walked and hoped that either my people were still alive or that the sea would take me too. Walked into the darkness, as long as my feet took me somewhere. It really didn’t matter where. Deep down I know I hoped the light would come back. I still do.
And yet they never came. So I kept walking. Into the depths of my consciousness, purposeless, directionless, alone. There was nothing else left to do.
But for a moment I stopped in my tracks — it wasn’t all dead. There was a kind of slow rustling noise coming from somewhere in that darkness. It grazed the air with the cadence of broad leaves heavy with morning dew. The gust cut through and brushed the tips of my hair with a sharp whistle. There was probably an insect on it, somewhere, chirping as its foothold rocked in the breeze. At first, silence, then the scene was met with more of its perked up kin. I took another step forward. The feeling of soft, fresh grass crunched lightly beneath my feet.
I looked up into the sky. Nothing. No stars had returned, and perhaps they never will. But I was alive. And the island was too.
The stars gave us happiness, hope, and life. And then the stars were gone. But none of that was taken from us when they left. Still the island thrived under starlight that no longer existed.
They left the last of their light with us. To carry on without them.
As I finally neared the water’s edge, I could hear the sounds of a flock of seabirds flying above me, loud and full of vigor as they dived into the sea and towards their prey with a splash. They carried on as usual, like they always had.
I took in a deep breath, of the salty seawater blown by sea breeze, of the sandy beach and broken stones. Of my home.
And I could hear, in the distance, the calls of living, breathing people sprinting across the shore. The calls of my people.
LEVEL
288
SURVIVAL DIFFICULTY
CLASS 0
Exit: 0/5
Guaranteed Exit
Environment: 0/5
No Environmental Risks
Entities: 0/5
No Hostile Entities
Level 288 is a quaint little space near the borders of overarching reality. It is also yet another level to have fallen to the curse of the Blackout.
A moderately large island stands alone in the dead of an eternal night, overlooking a vast ocean of immeasurably large size and depth. On one side is a wide, sandy beach, inhabited by skittering wildlife and the remnants of coastal trees. The rest of the island rises to a 200-meter tall hill from there, terminating in a cliff at the far end. Despite the lack of light, sparse yet lush forest and field occupies its surface, blessed with fresh fruit and the scent of blooming flowers.
The sea that surrounds the only land in the level is a calm structure. No tempests ravage its surface, and waves are always low, unthreatening. A thriving ecosystem of fish, kelp, and coral can be found in the shallow waters surrounding the island.
The level’s residents say that a plethora of stars used to dot the sky, back before the darkness. They called them stars, but their true nature is but a mystery, really. They say the stars spoke to them, guided them. Said they fell into the ocean as lightless husks when the Blackout happened. But none of that really matters anymore, not with the stars gone.
The island has a fairly small but active population of people. They make the most of what they have now. Rebuilt from the catastrophe that struck their home, stuck out hope, or perhaps perseverance. Or both.
Despite everything, life goes on in Level 288.
I wouldn’t say things have exactly been easy. Not that anyone would’ve expected it to be. It's all still a bit uncomfortable to think about, if I’m being honest. We managed to clear out most of the mess, but that left us with a clean slate, and I’d say we lost more things than most of us would like to admit, even to ourselves. But maybe it’s not the worst thing ever. This thing… whatever it was, brought us closer to each other, if nothing else. Taught us how to rely on each other.
It’s kind of weird to have to memorize where everything is so specifically. I suppose it puts all that muscle memory to good use. We tried setting down clearer paths, and people have also started putting down a lot of little makeshift “landmarks” to help us keep track of where we are. I found it all pretty depressing at first, that we needed these things at all to even just get around, but today… I don’t know, I think it gives the place a lot of life. You can kind of tell who made each one, who made each change, who carved the letters on their surfaces.
You know, the beach isn’t so scary anymore. I can feel the sand under my feet again.
There’s a nice feeling in the air today. Nice enough for a walk.
They built a town hall of sorts halfway up the hill. It’s not very big — I can reach the ceiling of both floors with my hands — but so is everything else here, and it does the job. It’s not like anyone can see it anyway. People gather there sometimes, to talk, to eat, to laugh. And sometimes to just be together. Assure each other that none of us are alone.
If nothing else, we can certainly hear it. There’s a big bell on top of it. Rings at least once a day, and it’s audible from most parts of the island. Maybe it’s annoying to some, but to me, it’s a reminder that dark doesn’t mean death. Life’s still here, and we can still hear its tune.
I held someone’s hand today. It was soft and warm. Alive. Like me.
The darkness may have snuffed out the light of the stars, but it will not snuff out mine.