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What started as a few hovels across a massive expanse of asphalt transformed into an enormous city, complete with running water, power, twinkling lights, skyscrapers… If you walked into this bustling trade hub today, its surreal purity and dazzling architecture might fool you to believe its people had lived an easy life, free of the Wasteland’s harsh realities.
You would be wrong.
Starlight shines so brightly because its light was nearly extinguished.
At first, Starlight showed great promise. People flocked to its promise of opportunity and began to build and build and build. Soon, they had a city that rivaled the Great Green Jewel. Wood and metal paved their roads. At night, you could see its neon lights for miles.
But they built too much, too fast. The city began to collapse under the weight of its own upward spiral. And soon, it came crashing down.
It started with nausea, pain near the ribs, and an itch that just wouldn’t go away. Then came the fever, yellow skin, yellow eyes… Sleep didn’t help. Folks died in their beds—too tired to get up. Roads fell apart. Trash piled. Buildings were condemned. Then came the quarantine.
“No one in or out,” Sole said, their expression unreadable behind their gas mask. They boarded up the well. “It’s coming from the water,” they said.
They turned away caravans. Provisioners dropped off supplies at the gate. Folks slept in tents outside the clinic. Healthy volunteers sat at their bedsides, with cool cloths and clean water and fresh sheets and empty buckets. Sole spent days in their workshop, eyes pressed to a microscope. They paced their floors; they mixed tinctures; they took samples and swabs; they made slides and petri dishes… But there was no end in sight.
Soon, folks were dying faster than graves could be dug. “Dispose of the remains,” they said. “Burn them. Toss them in the well. Pour gasoline and oil and let the whole thing burn. There’s no time to mourn.”
That’s when a stranger arrived. Their mask shaped like the beak of a raven. Their apron spotted with old, faded blood. “Nightingale,” they called themselves. We tried to turn them away. Tried to explain the “quarantine.” “I know,” they said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Let them in,” Sole said.
They built a hut in the far corner of the town. They planted seeds, and flowers grew. Steam swelled from their patchwork roof. The biting smell of Abraxo filled the air. They treated our sick. They gathered the refuse. They threw it in the well to burn. Then, they sealed it. For good.
Now, at Starlight’s bustling center, stands a towering hospital, and its beacon shines for miles. Now every traveler north of Boston knows where to go when their bodies ache, or their fevers won’t break, or their breathing stops short.
And Starlight knows it will never go dark again.
