As you settle down to sleep in the comfortable bed in Vash’s room, you remember the moment you first touched one of the fallen stars, and then find yourself swept up in a dream-vision. You feel as though you are flying up through a clear night sky, the stars gleaming above you, and a shimmering net of lights drawing nearer each moment. The worldfire. You reach it, reach out to touch it, and find that it is made up of ribbons of sparkling dust, every imaginable color refracting within each luminescent strand. The worldfire seems alive, trying wordlessly to speak to you, and you see visions of of great jungles enveloping cities, thorny vines choking aberrant creatures as they emerge from the sea, vile creatures falling from the heavens only to writhe and burn as they come into contact with the strands of the worldfire… Hundreds, thousands of voices at once are trying to speak to you, as if they once had language, but now have lost the power of words. One wordless, urgent voice rises above the rest, a note of contention, then all the voices fall silent. One of the shimmering strands coalesces into a whip made from the tail bones of some great animal, carried towards you in space in the mouth of a great black lion… you almost have hold of it when the vision fades, and true sleep overtakes you.
Half asleep on the couch, you suddenly remember the moment you first saw one of the fallen stars, the surge of psionic power you sensed within it. A huge, ghostly silver hand seems to sweep you up, carrying you away into a dream-like vision. The world floats below you, a blue and green sphere, the northern and southern portions netted in a shimmering web, ribbons of multicolored fire. You catch a glimpse of other spheres, but a thick darkness sweeps across your vision, blocking them from sight. You see the stars around you, glowing sanctuaries of light in a what seems to be an endless, hungry darkness. The darkness presses around you, not an empty, featureless void, but a heavy blackness that seems to writhe and teem with life you can’t quite see. Hungry minds slither across yours, seeking entry into your private thoughts, your sense of self, your very soul. You are hard-pressed to repel them, and even as you do, you reel with each fleeting contact they make with your mind. Utterly alien thoughts, ravening and unimaginable, for a moment threaten to tear you apart, body, mind, and soul. Then, the silvery hand closes around you protectively, and you find yourself safe, drifting weightlessly in a cool white space. From what you’ve learned, you imagine that you are in the heart of a living star, floating just over the surface of a lake of starlight. You still see the world, and still see other stars out in the teeming dark. One shudders, tugged at by some invisible force, then tumbles toward the planet below, a blazing comet that flares with fire and glory as it strikes the worldfire and plummets burning to the surface far below… You get the impression that someone is beside you, and you turn your head, but the vision fades away and you find yourself sinking into a deep, dreamless sleep.
As you relax into the calming meditations of your fey heritage, you suddenly recall the moment you first touched one of the fallen stars. You feel yourself falling into deep shadows, but you aren’t frightened or disoriented. The shadows seem like cool, pure, water; refreshing on your skin as they draw you deeper. Every ache, every pain you’ve harbored over the last few days slips away from you as you drift in the grip of a cool current. You emerge from the liquid shadows, finding yourself on the grey shores of an inky lake, beneath a cloudless night sky. Stars spin above you in a strange circular pattern, pouring most of their light not onto the planet below, but rather into what they are circling; a gaping black hole that dominates nearly half of the night sky. Lush mosses, grasses, twisting vines, trees and flowering plants grow wild across the landscape, all cast in muted shades of grey, glossy blacks, or cool, dark blues, purples, and reds. Two figures stand before you, one obscured in darkness under a tree, a living darkness shielding all but the hint of its outline from your eyes. The other figure stands in starlight, but is draped in a deeply hooded cloak so midnight black that it seems to suck away the light around it. They are turned away from you, staring up at something in the sky, something you can’t see. They speak in soft voices in a language you don’t understand, and then, the cloaked figure departs. The wind lifts up the edge of the cloak, letting out a spill of brilliant light, eye-searing in the darkness, and in that light, you catch a glimpse of a lovely feminine outline, an achingly beautiful face. Shadow plants wither away in the light, and she quickly restores her cloak to muffle every trace of a glow. She steps away quickly, vanishing between steps in a soft haze of less damaging light. The other figure emerges calmly from beneath the tree, the obscuring shadows moving with him as he glides with effortless grace towards the charred expanse. You watch as the male figure reaches out, and shadow life flourishes anew where it was burned. The figure looks towards you now, glittering eyes in the darkness assessing you, measuring you against some standard you do not understand. In a swirl of shadow, the figure vanishes, but you can feel him, deadly and calm behind you. The vision begins to fade, but his voice seems to whisper in your mind, fluid words in that strange language, but with a firm, commanding tone. You find yourself again in your room, deep in the lulling trance of your evening meditation.
Lyda later tells Tobias that as she slept, she had a strange dream. One about walking in a lush, paradise garden where everything seemed to be made of living crystal, glass, or pure light and flowing clear water. She found herself by a waterfall, and saw a winged woman there, a woman so beautiful in glory it hurt her to look at her. Two dark-haired children crouched over a small crystal ball, watching an ever changing array of tiny figures within it, including a dark haired man with blue eyes, fighting some great sea monster from aboard a storm-tossed ship. For a moment, she swears she saw Tobias within the orb, floating in a starry space. The woman changed into a form less painful to see, approached her, and healed her wounds, washed away her pain. As she did, the lucky holy symbol Lyda wears around her neck burned against her skin, and she thought she must be in the presence of the goddess of healing and light. The woman tried to speak but her words were garbled and faint, as if from very far away. Suddenly, the woman cried out in sudden pain, looking up at something in the sky, and Lyda saw a wound open up across the goddess’s thigh. She drifted back to sleep, confused and weary.