High above the mountains and forests, where the air grows thin and silence is infinite, floated a cloud like no other. It was called Orionis, the Cloud of Orion. It was neither white nor gray like its fleeting brothers, but tinged with deep blue, streaked with golden reflections that seemed to dance to the rhythm of celestial winds. The ancients said it was woven from the threads left behind by shooting stars, those hurried travelers who cross the night, leaving trails of light and unfinished dreams.
 
Orionis did not merely drift. It chose its path. While other clouds clung to the currents, it glided between constellations like a dancer on a cosmic stage. Sometimes, it paused near the Moon, stealing a bit of its glow to wrap its edges in a silver halo. Other times, it brushed the Sun at dusk, igniting in purple and orange before fading gently into the twilight.
 
Humans, from Earth, looked up at it with admiration. Poets dedicated verses to it, lovers saw it as an omen, and children dreamed of catching it to snuggle into its soft mist. But Orionis was elusive. It belonged to the sky, and the sky alone decided its appearances.
 
One autumn evening, as the leaves turned red and the wind whispered ancient secrets, Orionis descended lower than ever. It grazed the tops of the tallest fir trees, left a shimmering dew on the roofs of sleeping villages, and in its wake, a trail of tiny stars, fallen from its sides like tears of joy.
 
Since that day, it is said that those who glimpse Orionis in the sky may make a wish. Not a selfish one, no. A pure wish, a desire that speaks of love, courage, or beauty. For Orionis does not merely exist to be beautiful. It inspires.
 
And you, have you ever looked up at the sky, searching for more than the ordinary? Perhaps you have met its gaze…