Page 45 of Midnight Star

When he pulls back, his eyes burn with an intensity that takes my breath away.

“You’ll be okay,” he says again. “You’ve survived everything else so far. This won’t be an exception.”

The conviction in his words seeps into me, warmingme from the inside out, chasing away the last remnants of the ice magic’s chill. The fear is still there—it would take an irrational person to not be scared about astrally projecting into space. But I can do this, even if it means doing it while I’m scared.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

I hesitate for a second, but the look in his eyes—the unshakable trust, and the steady assurance—helps me steady myself.

“As ready as I think I can be,” I say, letting him pull me into his lap and cradle me in his arms.

Every point where we touch feels electric—his arms around me, my head tucked beneath his chin, and his steady heartbeat against my ear. Despite everything we’ve done together, this feels different. Deeper. Like we’re sharing a level of trust more precious than ever before.

“I’ve got you,” he tells me. “You’re safe with me—always.”

“I know,” I say, and I let out a slow breath as his arms tighten around me.

With that, I turn my gaze back to the Midnight Star. Its light pulses, bright and beckoning, and I feel its pull deep in my chest. As if it’s calling me home.

Keeping my eyes locked on the star, I dig inside myself and reach for my magic.

It stirs slowly at first, like a ripple over my skin. But it’s not enough. Not even close to it.

So, I draw more, pulling it upward and forcing myself to go deeper. As I do, the air around me shifts, humming with power. It’s radiant and luminous, and I feel it in my veins, my bones, my blood, and in my soul.

The Midnight Star’s glow intensifies, sending tendrils of light cascading toward me. The threads of starlight aren’t physical—I can’t touch them—but I can feel them, an intricate web connecting me to something so ancient it’s beyond comprehension. It’s like touching the heart of the universe—a dizzying, overwhelming rush of power that blurs the edges of who I am, where I begin, and where I end.

“Breathe,” Riven says, as steady as always. “You’re in control. You’ve got this.”

The threads of light around me grow brighter, wrapping around me like a cocoon, binding me to the star’s glow. It feels otherworldly, like stepping outside of time—outside of reality itself.

All the while, I keep my gaze locked onto the star.

Then, I let go.

In less than a second, I’m surrounded by endless darkness.

Stars streak past me like comets, and panic claws at my throat as I realize I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t?—

I snap back into my body with a gasp, sitting up and burying myself into Riven’s chest.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his arms tightening around me. “You’re safe.”

I’m trembling, my breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps as I cling to the sensation of being back in my body. Ice cold terror rushes through me at the memory of that infinite darkness—a darkness so consuming that it felt like being erased from existence itself.

“You’re okay,” Riven repeats. “You’re safe. Just breathe.”

My chest heaves as I force air into my lungs, the crushing weight of what I just experienced still pressing down on me. But once I’m able to pull back and look at him, he leads me through some relaxation exercises like the ones he gave me when he was helping my mind calm so I could sleep at the beginning of our journey, and soon, I’m okay.

Well, as okay as someone can be after being trapped in the vacuum of space.

“What happened?” he asks when I’m finally able to think again.

“I missed,” I say simply.

“Missed?” His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“I was in space. Just... floating. There was nothing around me. No air, no ground, no—” I break off, unable to articulate the sheer terror of that void.

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