“Where Shadows Sleep”

By Vedant Anshuman Singh

Pluto’s Lament  

A Tragic Tale in Blank Verse  

Born beneath the brilliance of Solarius’ sun,  

A light so fierce it crowned the heavens gold,  

There lived a boy—Pluto, shadow-cloaked,  

A lesser star among celestial flames.  

The child of endless skies and distant moons,  

Yet frail, with trembling hands and hollow breath,  

He walked in shadows cast by brighter kin.  

His brother, Etherius, carved from light and stone,  

Shone fierce with wisdom, strength, and endless might.  

The world adored him, sang his name with pride,  

While Pluto stumbled, unseen, left behind.  

Solarius, with eyes like burning stars,  

Would gaze at him—not with warmth, but sighs.  

“Leave swords and spears,” he said. “They are not yours.”  

The boy obeyed, though something cracked within.  

He laughed with siblings, shared their fleeting joys,  

But envy pooled like ink beneath his ribs.  

When Astralium burned, and war drums called,  

The Eight Celestials roared and took to sky,  

While Pluto stood, unarmed, behind the lines,  

His fists clenched tight, his hollow chest alight  

With fires he could never let ignite.  

Among the stars there shone another light—  

Seleme, goddess fair of moonlit grace.  

Her voice was soft, her beauty carved from dusk,  

But her gaze turned toward Etherius' flame.  

Pluto watched in silence, love unspoken,  

A shadow loving moonlight from afar.  

But shadows cannot dance where moonlight shines.  

When Void’s great army rose from distant dark,  

Its bones of stardust wrapped in funeral shrouds,  

It fell on Astralium's golden gates.  

Children screamed; the sky itself turned grey.  

Pluto, trembling, stepped into the fray,  

His heart a hammer beating in his chest.  

“Run!” he cried, his voice a fleeting spark.  

But shadows cannot shield the innocent.  

The children fell, their laughter swallowed whole,  

And silence choked the sky as Void withdrew.  

The blame, like iron chains, fell hard on him.  

Their eyes, accusing mirrors, pierced his soul.  

A voice—the sharpest dagger—spoke his guilt:  

“You should have stayed behind. You let them die.”  

Something splintered deep within his chest.  

He raised his trembling hands—his father’s guard  

Lay cold beneath him, bloodied on the stone.  

With shaking fingers, Pluto grasped a blade,  

And pointed it at Solarius' golden throne.  

But love still lingered, weak and frail and thin.  

The blade fell heavy from his weary hands.  

For this betrayal, blood was not enough.  

Jovis stormed with thunder in his fists,  

Etherius with his righteous blade of light.  

Their strikes fell hard, their words fell harder still,  

And Pluto fell, a broken thing, cast out,  

His wings torn, his halo burned to ash.  

He wandered endless voids where shadows weep,  

Until Void stretched a skeletal hand.  

“Come,” he whispered, voice like cracking stone.  

“I’ll give you strength where light has given none.”  

And Pluto, weak and shattered, took his hand.  

When shadows rose again on Astral fields,  

When Void’s great banners smeared the stars with black,  

At their head a figure stood, pale and cold,  

His eyes like hollow wells, his voice a storm.  

No longer trembling, no longer frail,  

He raised his blade—a comet forged in grief.  

The gates of Astralium screamed as they fell.  

Yet somewhere, deep beneath that fractured mask,  

A boy still lingered—small, afraid, and lost.  

He watched the kingdom burn beneath his feet,  

And wondered if the light had ever known  

The shadow aching softly at its edge.  

Oh, Pluto, child of half-lit heavens' breath,  

Your story carved in stone and starlit grief.  

The stars still weep for you in silent songs,  

A quiet hymn where shadows softly sleep.

By Vedant Anshuman Singh