Startled to hear the door shut suddenly behind him, Kane rose to his feet. He had been so engrossed in scribbling notes and peering through the observatory’s looking glass that he hadn’t heard the door open—either that or he was going deaf in old age.

“Mr. Alabaster Kane,” said a voice from behind.

“Why, Lord Velin,” Kane said, “Thank you for coming on such short notice.” He clasped his hands together and dipped his head in a customary show of respect.

Velin returned the gesture, albeit with a much slighter dip of the head. Scanning the observatory, he thought it looked more like the lived-in lair of a mad scientist than that of a notable scholar. Almost every surface was covered in notes. They had coordinates, calculations, and strange symbols scribbled all over them. They were stacked in piles, pinned to the walls, and even on the floor.

“What is the meaning of all this?” Velin asked as he gestured toward the celestial map at the far end of the chamber. It was riddled with pins and strings that seemed to be marking the locations of stars and tracking their movements—it was so all elaborate that it gave Velin a headache just looking at it.

“It’s my attempt to prove a theory that I’m afraid will reshape the destiny of our world,” Kane said.

“Will?” Velin reflected. “That sounds suspiciously certain for a theory.”

Kane shrugged. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t make it any less true.”

Stolen story; please report.

“And this certainty makes you afraid?” Velin asked.

“And a bit fascinated,” admitted Kane. “It appears that the position of our world relative to the stars is changing.”

Velin’s lips tightened into a small frown. “What does that even mean?”

“It means our star is drifting out of its normal rotation and pulling our world along with it. It appears to be curving towards the center of our galaxy.”

“I can barely imagine the implications of that,” Velin replied.

“That makes two of us,” Kane told him. “If my calculations are right, and our star system continues along the projected arc, then I estimate we’ll lose sight of all recognizable constellations within a year. And that is only one of the more overt challenges we’ll encounter.”

Velin thought for a moment before speaking, “It seems ludicrous to think such a thing is even possible. I can’t imagine the kind of power it would take to alter the course of an entire star system.”

“Nor can I,” acknowledged Kane. “It’s hard to fathom such a thing. What’s even more alarming is that our native star appears to be accelerating.”

The look of astonished horror that crossed Velin’s face might have been comical—if Kane hadn’t felt much the same. The possibility of their world or star colliding with another celestial object was a frightening prospect. What would happen if they passed through a gas cloud? Or encountered something worse as their star system traversed the depths of space.

“It seems like measuring the speed of star would be a nigh impossible task,” Velin said. “How could you even calculate such a thing?”

Kane nodded toward the star map and wild overgrowth of notes that cluttered every available surface of the observatory.

Velin frowned again. “Fair enough,” he said with a shake the head. He was having trouble believing what he was hearing. Eventually, he asked, “What does this mean for our immediate future?”

“It means navigation is going to be hell this year,” replied Kane.