Luna lived in a village perched on the edge of the world, where the night sky was so clear and deep it felt like you could fall into it. Her dearest friend was an old star collector named Orion, who no longer climbed the high hills. His collection of captured starlight, kept in a dozen glass jars, had begun to dim.“Luna,” he whispered one evening, his voice raspy. “The Star-Fall Festival is tomorrow. My light is fading. The village will have no glow.” He pointed a trembling finger to the tallest peak, Silverspire Mountain. “A new shower of stars fell