"There is an old tale told only by the oldest trees, one carried by the wind instead of words. They say that on the quietest nights, when the forest forgets to breathe and the stars burn brighter than ever before, a lone she-cat named Galaxy walks beneath the heavens. She does not speak, for the night already knows her voice. Instead, she listens—to the rustling leaves, the distant cries of sleeping birds, and the soft hum of the universe above. No one knows where she came from. Some believe she was born beneath a sky full of falling stars. Others whisper that she simply appeared one evening, as though the constellations had taken shape and stepped gently onto the earth. She never stayed long enough for anyone to ask. By dawn, only scattered leaves and fading pawprints remained, leaving others to wonder if she had truly been there at all. Yet every creature who crossed her path remembered the feeling she left behind. A strange peace settled in their hearts, like the calm that comes after a long storm. Looking into her eyes was like gazing into the endless night itself—vast, beautiful, and filled with countless stories waiting to be discovered. She carried no crown, sought no glory, and asked for nothing in return. She simply existed, quiet as moonlight and constant as the stars. Perhaps that is why the sky has never seemed quite so empty. Somewhere beneath its endless expanse, Galaxy is still wandering, following the wind wherever it leads, while the stars above silently guide the one who has always belonged among them."
