#sciencefantasy

A new Starforge Tales collection has arrived.

Science Fantasy Pack 01 contains:

• 12 high-resolution science fantasy artworks + bonus images

• Dedicated cover artwork

• Mobile wallpapers

• Desktop wallpaper

• Poster version

Featuring:

• World-seeds and living planets

• Floating cities

• Celestial gardens

• Ancient archives

• Cosmic ecosystems

• Stellar navigators

• Impossible civilizations

Created in a painterly fantasy cover-art style focused on wonder, discovery, hope, and exploration.

Available now:

The city counted years the way most civilizations counted sunsets.

Nobody remembered why.

Visitors found it strange.

Children found it normal.

The city occupied a floating island that circled a luminous star-tree.

Every year, one leaf fell.

Only one.

The leaf drifted slowly through the sky before dissolving into light.

The citizens called this event a Turning.

A merchant arriving from another world asked an old woman how long she had lived.

"Seventy-three Turnings," she replied.

The merchant stared.

"You look far older than seventy-three."

The woman smiled.

"I am."

The merchant frowned.

"Then why do you say seventy-three?"

The old woman pointed toward the star-tree.

"Because I have witnessed seventy-three endings."

The merchant looked up.

The tree held thousands of leaves.

The old woman continued.

"Anyone can count days."

Another leaf detached.

The crowd below fell silent.

Children stopped running.

Musicians lowered their instruments.

Everyone watched.

The leaf descended through the evening sky.

A tiny golden star.

The old woman smiled.

"But wisdom comes from learning which moments deserve counting."

More stories:

The Department of Fallen Stars occupied a very small office.

This was surprising because stars fell rather often.

At least according to the paperwork.

Mira processed three complaints before lunch.

One claimed a missing constellation had landed in a cabbage field.

Another reported a moon behaving suspiciously.

The third insisted an entire sunrise had arrived two days early.

The third complaint turned out to be correct.

Mira hated when that happened.

She climbed the observatory tower carrying a stack of forms.

Above the city, a brilliant object descended slowly through the clouds.

Not a meteor.

Not a ship.

A star.

A literal star.

It drifted toward the central plaza with all the urgency of a customer arriving five minutes before closing.

Citizens gathered below.

Scholars panicked.

Priests began revising several important beliefs.

Mira opened Form 27-B.

UNSCHEDULED CELESTIAL ARRIVAL

The star settled gently onto the fountain.

Then it spoke.

"Good afternoon."

Nobody answered.

The star brightened politely.

"I believe I am lost."

Mira looked at the form.

Looked at the star.

Then checked the box marked:

OBJECT REQUESTING DIRECTIONS

It was going to be a long day.

More stories:

The door had been sealed for eight thousand years.

Everyone agreed it should remain closed.

Tessa disagreed.

The ancient vault lay beneath a crater where no plants grew and no animals nested.

Even the wind avoided it.

Three expeditions had vanished trying to enter.

A fourth had fled after hearing voices beyond the stone.

Tessa descended alone.

The chamber beneath the crater was impossibly vast.

Stars glowed across the ceiling.

Not painted.

Not projected.

Real.

An entire night sky trapped underground.

At the center stood the door.

Silver.

Perfectly smooth.

Waiting.

As she approached, symbols ignited across its surface.

A language older than every known civilization.

Tessa's translator crystal flickered.

Then produced a single sentence.

EMERGENCY EXIT

She froze.

Not entrance.

Exit.

The realization struck harder than fear.

The vault was not protecting the universe from what lay beyond.

It was protecting something beyond from the universe.

The door began to open.

A line of golden light appeared.

Then widened.

Something moved within.

Not attacking.

Not rushing forward.

Watching.

Patiently.

As though it had expected someone to arrive eventually.

And now it was deciding whether to let her leave.

More stories:

The library had no books.

At least, none made of paper.

For six centuries scholars crossed the stars seeking its knowledge.

Most returned confused.

Some never returned at all.

When Arin finally reached the Seventh Moon, she expected shelves.

Instead she found a valley.

A vast crystal valley hidden beneath the moon's surface.

Thousands of luminous trees stretched toward an artificial sky.

Each branch held glowing fruit.

Each fruit contained a memory.

Histories.

Languages.

Songs.

Entire civilizations preserved as living records.

A caretaker waited beneath the largest tree.

Not human.

Not machine.

Something older than both.

"You seek knowledge," it said.

Arin nodded.

"I seek the truth."

The caretaker reached upward and plucked a single silver fruit.

"Then choose carefully."

Arin accepted it.

The fruit dissolved into light.

Suddenly she stood within someone else's memory.

She saw oceans that no longer existed.

Stars arranged in unfamiliar constellations.

Worlds erased from every modern chart.

Then she saw something else.

A map.

Hidden deliberately inside thousands of unrelated memories.

A map no one was meant to assemble.

The caretaker watched silently.

"You found it."

Arin stared.

"You knew it was there?"

The being smiled.

"The library is not hiding knowledge."

It looked toward the glowing forest.

"It is hiding a destination."

More stories:

Nobody knew how many suns had vanished.

The maps disagreed.

Ancient star charts showed constellations that no longer existed.

Entire civilizations had recorded worlds orbiting lights now absent from the sky.

Most scholars blamed errors.

Liora did not.

For twelve years she hunted missing stars.

The trail led her to an observatory floating above the clouds.

The structure drifted silently between shattered moon fragments.

No engines.

No crew.

No explanation.

Inside, countless celestial maps hung suspended in crystal chambers.

Each chart recorded a different era of the universe.

Liora moved deeper.

Past galaxies.

Past forgotten empires.

Past suns older than history.

At the center of the observatory she found a single machine.

A sphere of silver rings rotating around an empty space.

The machine was active.

Waiting.

A symbol appeared in the air above it.

One star.

Then another.

Then thousands.

The missing suns.

Liora stared.

The stars had not died.

They had been moved.

Carefully.

Deliberately.

Hidden.

And whatever power had hidden them was still watching the sky.

More stories:

The temple descended from the sky once every twelve years.

Every nation claimed it belonged to their ancestors.

The temple disagreed.

Pilgrims crossed deserts to witness its arrival.

Scholars brought maps.

Treasure hunters brought weapons.

Priests brought certainty.

Nara brought questions.

When the gates opened, ancient machinery awakened beneath silver floors.

Gardens grew beneath artificial constellations.

Crystal birds sang from metallic trees.

At the center of the structure sat a single object.

A key.

Small.

Ancient.

The scholars argued over its purpose.

The priests debated its meaning.

Nara ignored them.

Because engraved beneath the key were four words.

Not a warning.

Not a blessing.

Directions.

The temple had not come to be explored.

It had come to point somewhere else.

And whatever destination waited beyond the stars—

the builders clearly expected visitors.