Blackhole of Magic -Nasimur Rahman

Mevarix was standing on a silver stage in his dream, holding the trophy he had wanted for years. The crowd roared his name. His starship model floated above him, glowing like a tiny galaxy. Then the ceiling cracked. A jagged line tore across the sky, swallowing the applause. The lights shattered. His ship crumbled into sparks and vanished into a spinning circle of darkness.

Mevarix jolted awake.

The real sky outside his window was wrong.

Between the stars, a swirling violet ring pulsed like a giant heartbeat. It bent the constellations inward, stretching them like rubber bands. The air hummed, and the moonlight flickered as if afraid.

His dream had broken. Now the sky was breaking too.

Mevarix grabbed his wrist-com and sent a priority ping.

Within minutes, Zyphora Quell vaulted through his window with her magnetic boots clanking. Her silver hair was tied into five sharp braids that glowed faintly in the dark. Brontix Hale followed, tall and serious, carrying a case filled with mechanical tools. Last came little Tekk Vireo, whose goggles were always slightly too big for his face.

They all froze when they saw the sky.

That is not a storm, Brontix muttered.

That is not even normal space, Zyphora whispered.

The violet ring deepened in color. At its center formed a dark sphere, smooth and endless, yet rimmed with sparkling light like crushed diamonds.

Mevarix swallowed. That looks like a black hole.

Tekk adjusted his goggles. Black holes do not glitter.

As if hearing them, a beam of bright purple light shot down from the sphere and struck the abandoned observatory on the hill. The old building glowed for a second, then fell silent.

The humming grew louder.

We should check it out, Zyphora said, already halfway out the door.

They sprinted through the cold grass toward the observatory. The heavy wooden doors creaked open on their own. Dust swirled inside, but at the center of the floor, beneath the ancient telescope, something new hovered.

A small orb of darkness floated above a glowing ring of shifting symbols. It was no bigger than a basketball, yet staring at it made Mevarix feel as if he were peering into forever.

The air smelled strangely sweet, like cinnamon and rain.

The orb pulsed.

With each pulse, images flickered across its surface. A city made of floating islands. Rivers pouring upward into clouds. Children painting mountains into existence.

Zyphora stepped closer. That is not just gravity.

Brontix scanned it with a handheld reader. The readings are impossible. Gravity is fluctuating. Energy levels are off every chart.

The orb pulsed again, brighter.

Suddenly the telescope bent toward it. Books lifted from shelves. The floor trembled.

We should back up, Brontix warned.

But instead of pulling them away, the orb pulled them in.

The glowing ring beneath it vanished, and the floor dissolved into starlight.

They fell.

Yet it did not feel like falling. It felt like drifting through a tunnel made of liquid night. Colors rippled around them. Every streak they touched turned into something alive. Mevarix brushed against a blue ribbon of light, and it became a bird that flew away singing.

Then the tunnel ended.

They landed gently on a surface like polished glass. Above them stretched a sky of swirling color, brighter and wilder than any sunrise. Towers spiraled upward in shades of gold and emerald. Children soared overhead on boards of light. Trees shimmered with crystal leaves.

A floating sign formed glowing letters.

Welcome to Noxaria.

A small figure approached, glowing softly. Her name, somehow, was already in their minds.

Miralune.

Her hair sparkled like distant stars, and her eyes held calm strength.

You have crossed the Veil, she said. Few from your world do.

Zyphora crossed her arms. Why us?

Miralune pointed upward.

Above the bright clouds spread a massive shadow. It was jagged and restless, darker than the portal they had entered through.

That is the Devourer, Miralune said. It feeds on abandoned dreams. Each time someone gives up, it grows stronger.

Mevarix felt heat rush to his face. His broken project. His disappointment. Had he helped create that thing?

The Devourer has nearly consumed Noxaria, Miralune continued. Your world still believes. That belief opened the portal.

Brontix stepped forward. Tell us what to do.

Miralune raised her hands. Four objects formed from threads of light.

Mevarix received a compass that spun wildly, its needle flickering between colors. Zyphora gained winged gauntlets glowing with silver energy. Brontix held a prism hammer radiating shifting light. Tekk cradled a cube filled with flowing symbols.

These are shaped from your unfinished dreams, Miralune said. They will answer only to you.

The shadow roared, though no sound came. The sky dimmed as it stretched toward the city.

Zyphora launched upward, her winged gauntlets igniting in streaks of silver. She slashed through tendrils of darkness, leaving trails of light behind. Brontix slammed his prism hammer into the ground. Waves of rainbow energy surged forward, striking the shadow’s edges. Tekk twisted his glowing cube, releasing walls of shifting symbols that blocked spreading cracks.

Mevarix stood still.

The compass in his hand trembled, then locked onto the darkest part of the shadow.

He remembered the stage in his dream. The applause fading. The ship crumbling.

But now he saw it differently. The failure had not ended him. It had pushed him to imagine something better.

He raised the compass.

A beam of brilliant white light shot from its needle, piercing the shadow. Inside, he saw fragments. Torn drawings. Crushed homework. Half-written stories.

The Devourer feeds on these, Miralune called. Transform them.

Mevarix closed his eyes. He pictured his broken starship rebuilt with stronger wings and brighter engines. He imagined children finishing their stories, retrying their tests, drawing new worlds.
The beam shifted from white to gold.

When it touched the fragments, they changed. The torn drawings became living creatures of color. The crushed homework turned into glowing scrolls. The half-written stories burst into fireworks of words.

The shadow shrank, trembling.

Zyphora’s silver streaks cut through its core. Brontix’s prism waves wrapped it in blazing color. Tekk’s coded shields sealed its cracks.

With a final flash, the Devourer dissolved into sparkling dust that rained gently over Noxaria.

The sky brightened. Cheers echoed from the floating towers.

Miralune smiled. You have restored balance. Remember, darkness grows when hope is discarded.

Light swirled around them again.

The tunnel of liquid night returned, softer this time.

When they landed back in the observatory, the orb was gone. The telescope stood straight. The sky outside was calm and full of steady stars.

For a moment, none of them spoke.

Zyphora grinned first. So, about that competition.

Mevarix looked at the broken pieces of his old model on the desk. He picked them up carefully.

This was not the end, he realized. It was the beginning of something larger.

He smiled.

Next time, he said quietly, I will build a ship that can cross any sky.

Outside, the stars shimmered brighter than ever, as if somewhere beyond them a magical black hole was waiting, not to swallow dreams, but to turn them into galaxies.