One night On fell asleep and dreamed that the sky was completely empty. No stars, not a single one - only vast, terrifying darkness stretching in every direction.
She woke with a start, her heart pounding. But when she looked out her window, the stars still glittered as always. She let out a long breath.
Then, the following week, On noticed that some stars had actually vanished.
At first it was a few small ones along the eastern horizon. Then more, one by one. The villagers began to talk. Children asked their parents. Nobody had an answer.
Until On went to see Elder Aji - the oldest woman in the village, who sat in front of her house in a haze of incense smoke.
“The stars haven’t gone anywhere,” Elder Aji said quietly. “They are sleeping. And they’ve gone to sleep in the deep forest to the north.”
“Why would they sleep?” On asked.
“Because no one has sung to them in many years,” Aji replied. “Stars need song to stay awake. When the world grows too quiet, the stars close their eyes.”
“Who can wake them?”
Elder Aji looked at On for a long moment. “Only a child whose voice comes from the heart.”
On set off at dawn. She carried a small pack with bread and water, and followed the path Elder Aji had described into the dense forest to the north - the one the villagers never entered.
The trees here were taller than any she had seen. Roots rose above the ground like coiled dragons. Branches wove together until almost no sunlight reached through. On carried a small lamp.
Before long she reached her first obstacle. A great bear lay across the path, and it woke when she approached, fixing her with enormous eyes.
“Who dares enter my forest?” the bear rumbled.
On was afraid but she didn’t run. She stood still and spoke plainly. “I’ve come to wake the stars. Please let me through.”
“Why should I?”
“Because if all the stars go out, the nights will be completely dark. You won’t be able to find your way back to your cave either.”
The bear thought about this for a moment, then shrugged and stepped aside. “Go on then.”
The second obstacle was a wide river blocking the path. No bridge, only a fierce current.
On sat at the water’s edge and thought for a while. Then she began to sing - softly at first, a melody her mother used to sing when she was very small.
The water grew calm. The current slowed. And one by one, stepping stones rose up from beneath the surface, forming a crossing to the other bank.
“Your voice is good,” the river murmured. “Cross over.”
The final obstacle was a thick fog that swallowed everything. On walked into it and could barely see her own hand. She stopped, took a slow breath, and began to sing again - louder this time, more openly, straight from her heart.
The fog began to clear. And before her appeared an enormous silver-trunked tree, its roots spreading as wide as a town. And at every root, tiny lights flickered - hundreds, thousands of them.
The sleeping stars.
On walked toward the great tree and sat down at one of its wide roots. She sang the softest song she had ever sung - no words, just a melody that came from feeling alone.
The first light slowly brightened. Then the second. Then the third. Like flowers opening one by one, star after star woke up, floating up around On in rings of golden light before rising through the canopy toward the sky.
On sang until the very last star stirred and flew upward.
Then she looked up through the trees at a sky blazing with light.
The walk home was easy. The stars shone bright enough to light the path without her lamp. When she reached the village, the people standing outside and staring upward in wonder turned to see her come.
On smiled at everyone, then went home to sleep.
That night, she didn’t have any bad dreams at all.
