The wizard who collected stars

⏱ ~7 min reading

On a hill outside the city, in a little house with a twisted chimney and round windows like portholes, there lived a sorcerer. His name was Zoryannik.

He had a special craft. No other wizard in the world did this.

The stargazer collected fallen stars.

Do you know how it happens? Sometimes you look up at the sky in the evening - and suddenly a star chirps! - and rolls away. People say: "Make a wish." But in reality - the star simply fell. And if no one had picked it up - it would have faded into the grass.

The stargazer found them. All of them.

He had a special flashlight that tinkled softly when a star fell nearby. The stargazer would put on his boots, take the flashlight, and walk through the meadows, forests, and forest edges. The tinkling sound would find a small, still warm, still slightly shining star. He would put it in a bag made of silver silk.

And at home he had a large chest. Wooden, with a carved lid. It contained already collected stars - thousands of them, twinkling, each the size of a cherry. When the Stargazer opened the chest - the room was filled with a soft golden light, as if thousands of candles were burning there at once.

“What are you doing with them, Zoryannik?” the neighbors asked.

"And that's what I'll do," he smiled, "when necessary.".

Then one warm summer evening he went out for a walk.

The sun was already setting. The sky was turning pink, then lilac, then dark blue. The first stars were already beginning to appear above the roofs. The stargazer walked through the park - past the linden trees, past the old carousel, past the flowerbed with night violets, which were just beginning to smell.

And I saw a boy on the bench.

The boy was sitting alone. Small, about eight years old. Thin. His legs didn't reach the ground—they dangled. He was holding a broken twig in his hands and peeling the bark off it. His eyes were looking up at the sky—and there wasn't a single star in them. Only serious, serious sadness.

The stargazer stopped. He approached quietly. He sat down next to me.

— Good evening, young man.

The boy looked at him—suspiciously, the way children look at unfamiliar adults—but saw an old man with kind eyes and a soft gray beard. He nodded.

— Good morning.

— Why are you sitting alone?

The boy was silent for a long time. Then, as if by himself, he spoke:

"I can't do anything. Everyone scolds me. At school, the teacher said I was incapable. At home, my dad says I'm slow. My friends laugh when I can't kick the ball into the goal. I... I don't know how to live." His voice trembled. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't there.".

The stargazer didn't say anything right away. He didn't say "don't cry." He didn't say "it'll pass." He didn't say "you're just little." He just sat there — next to me, breathing next to me, being there.

Then he carefully took out a small bag of silver silk from under the hem of his long cloak. He untied it. And in the light of the evening star the boy saw - there, inside, lay a small star. Alive. Warm. Shining like a tiny candle.

“What is this?” the boy whispered.

"It's a star," said the Stargazer quietly. "A real one. I pulled it out of the field last fall. Then it was dim, barely alive. And now—look how it shines.".

"And... why are you carrying it with you?"

— I'm waiting.

— Who?

“The one who needs it.” The Stargazer smiled. “I think I found it.”.

He carefully pulled out the star with two fingers. He handed it to the boy:

"Hold on. This is your hope.".

The boy didn't dare take it. He looked the sorcerer in the eyes.

— What if it breaks?

"It won't break. It's made of strong material.".

— Am I worthy?

"Every child deserves a star," said the Stargazer seriously. "It's the law. Adults forget, but the law is there.".

The boy stretched out his hand. His fingertips trembled. The dawn fell into his palm—warm, light, like a snowflake that doesn't melt. The boy felt something run through his hand—like a current, only a good one.

He clenched his fist. Not too hard, so as not to suffocate. And then—carefully—he put the star in his breast pocket. Right next to his heart.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

The astrologer nodded:

"Go home. And take care of her.".

The boy got up. He wanted to leave, but turned around:

— What is your name?

— Stargazer. And you?

— Antosko.

— Stay healthy, Antoska.

The boy left. Halfway there, he turned around again—Zoryannyk smiled at him from afar. Antosko disappeared around the bend, clutching his breast pocket.

A year has passed.

The stargazer had almost forgotten that meeting—he had many things to do, many other stars, many other evenings.

Then one warm summer evening he was sitting on the same bench in the park again. Suddenly a boy ran up to him. Tall, half a head taller than the one from last year, with a wide smile and sparkling eyes.

"Starling!" he exclaimed. "Do you remember me?"

The astrologer looked closely. He smiled.

— Antosko?

— Me! It's me! — The boy was jumping up and down. — Thank you! I've grown up this year. At school, the teacher said that I wrote the best essay. Dad took me fishing — and we talked a lot there. My friends took me to their team — I'm a defender now, I'm good at it!

The astrologer was happy—sincerely, from the bottom of his heart. His eyes sparkled.

— Do you still have the star?

"Yes! Here, feel it!" Antosko pointed to his breast pocket.

The stargazer reached out his hand. He carefully touched the pocket of his shirt.

Empty.

He raised an eyebrow. Antosko froze.

"I put it in there..." The boy fumbled with both hands in his pocket, confused. "I put it in there back then. And I wore it. Every day. And now it's gone. Where did it go?"

The stargazer laughed. Quiet, good, warm.

"No, my dear. She is not lost.".

"Where is she?"

The stargazer placed his hand on Antosk's chest, where his heart was beating.

"Here she is. You grew her inside you. She stopped being in your pocket and became you. Now you are her home.".

Antosko froze. He listened to himself. And he felt it — really. Inside him was something warm. Something clear. Something that hadn't been there before. It breathed in time with his heart.

“Is this… is this me now?” he whispered.

"It's you," Stargazer nodded. "And this is just the beginning. The further you go, the brighter you become.".

Antosko silently hugged the old wizard. The way only children can hug tightly when they don't need words.

When he left, the Stargazer sat a little longer. Then he raised his head to the sky. The stars were already appearing - one after another. He knew: somewhere out there a new one would appear soon. Because when a star lights up in a person - another one lights up in the sky too. In response.

At home, the Stargazer went into his chest. He opened the lid. And gasped.

There was just as much dawn in the chest as there had been a year ago. Maybe even more.

Because the magic stars never end when they are given with faith. There will always be enough hope in the world - for everyone who needs it. There just needs to be someone to pass it on.

The stargazer smiled, closed the chest and went to sleep. Tomorrow was a new day. And a new sad park bench. And, maybe, a new child looking at the sky without stars in his eyes.

The sun was already waiting for her.