The air in the estate was heavy with the scent of polished obsidian and vanishing power.
Astra walked alone through the labyrinthine corridors of the Shadow embassy in Duskfall, his steps echoing softly off the cold marble beneath. The once-proud halls, decorated with whispering tapestries and banners of woven midnight, now bustled with subtle panic. Servants darted between rooms, arms full of gilded tomes, enchanted reliquaries, mana-sealed scrolls—anything not bolted to the walls.
House Dusk had issued its decree: House Shadow's embassy is to be stripped of all strategic value. Rank Five operatives and above must return to Shadowfall. All spheres of influence are to be relinquished within the realm's borders.
Not an attack. But damn close.
And yet… no one looked at him. Not really. They bowed, they stepped aside, they addressed him as my lord. But their eyes slid past him, like trying to ignore the flame eating the curtains.
Astra understood. To acknowledge him was to lend his cause oxygen. Better to pretend he was nothing at all. It was, politically speaking, the smartest move House Dusk could make.
But House Shadow had already made their counterplay.
"We declare the resurrection of House Night."
It had echoed through the mana network. A statement of defiance wrapped in prophecy. A shattered house, reborn in its last scion, cloaked in myth.
And now, walking these halls, Astra felt the weight of that name following him like a ghost.
He caught his reflection briefly in a high-polish shadowglass wall.
The changes were subtle—but undeniable.
His curls, already dark as starless void, now shimmered faintly under the faint blue enchantment lights, kissed by threads of iridescence like nebulae woven into night. His eyes—once a violet twilight, now turned a darker shade of deep azure purple, he could almost makeup little sparkles in his eyes . Not glowing, but deep, as though constellations watched from within.
His frame had matured, no longer wiry but sculpted. A quiet strength carved by mana and conflict. The process of ascension hadn't just empowered him—it had made him beautiful. Unnaturally so. The kind of beauty that could command rooms and unsettle kings. A celestial flaw in a world grown used to predictable patterns.
He pulled his gaze away.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "I look like a walking propaganda poster."
His coin pulsed faintly in his inner pocket. Dormant, for now. Watching.
The mana-crystal in his hand flickered with breaking news as he skimmed the surface headlines.
Dawn prepares mana fleet deployment across desert gates.Hunt and Dune issue mobilization pacts. Shadow fortifies northward passes.House Night confirmed. Old lineage rises again.Saint Ivelia meets privately with Shadow Envoys.Realm of Apu continues descent into open conflict—Guild of War celebrates with public feasts."Astra Noctis" trends for 47th straight day.
It was chaos. It was history. It was only just beginning.
And he was at the center of it.
"I need strength," he whispered, jaw tightening. "And fast."
But first… explanations.
He turned a sharp corner into one of the darker wings of the estate—the ones still untouched by the scrambling exodus. Shadows coiled against the stone, flickering as he passed through them like they knew him.
He stopped in front of the door, hand hovering just short of the handle.
"Crap. I need to explain myself."
He took a breath, composed his face into something vaguely apologetic—and knocked.
The door creaked open with an obnoxiously dramatic groan, and a familiar voice immediately pierced the gloom.
"—Finally! I thought you'd gotten even prettier and decided you were too good for the likes of me!"
Vesper lounged inside the darkened chamber like a king without a throne, his massive frame sprawled across a low-backed couch, shirt half-unbuttoned, boots kicked off like he owned the place. A few candles flickered lazily, barely pushing back the shadows that clung to the room's edges.
When Vesper saw Astra, he grinned wide—white teeth and pure mischief.
"Damn," he whistled low. "You really have gotten prettier. Scary, too. A little starborn nightmare princess vibe going on. Honestly, I've always said you'd end up a terrifying beauty. Guess I was right. Again."
Astra rolled his eyes but couldn't fight the small grin tugging at his mouth. It was rare these days, but Vesper always knew how to yank a reaction out of him.
"Save it," Astra said dryly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "You're not wrong, but I don't think it's a compliment when it comes from you."
Vesper placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "Wounded. Utterly devastated."
But the humor dropped just a touch from his face as he sat up straighter, some of the old soldier beneath the teasing surfacing for a moment.
"Jokes aside," Vesper said, voice dropping with just a hint of sarcasm, "you're insane. What you pulled at the tournament? That fight? That ascension?" He gave a low, almost reverent whistle. "I've never seen anything like it. You didn't just fight Aster—you outshined her. In front of billions. The star magic, the force behind it... Astra, it wasn't just powerful. It was mythical. Like something out of the Tales of Atlas."
"Good job, your highness."
Astra grimaced. "She's... terrifyingly beautiful."
Vesper snorted into his drink. "Terrifyingly everything, if you ask me."
Astra set his glass down, suddenly serious. "Dude. I need to tell you about Seraphine later as well. But you're also an idiot."
"Seraphine?.. Gods. But yeah," Vesper said cheerfully, "I'm an idiot who's about to catch up."
He leaned in, lowering his voice.
"I'm close, Astra. Real close. So is Velora. My second core's almost done brewing. A little more, and I'll join you in that shiny new rank." His eyes gleamed. "Then we can really start tearing things apart."
Astra nodded, feeling the pressure in his chest ease slightly. Having Vesper ascend would be... gods, it would change everything. He wasn't alone in this storm.
"And yeah, before you ask," Vesper added, grabbing a mana flask and tossing it casually into the air before catching it, "the war's already started, even if most people don't realize it yet. What you kicked off with your little stunt is just the opening stages. Mobilizations, alliances, whispers in the shadows. Some houses are already throwing each other to the wolves."
He tossed a datapad toward Astra. The headlines blurred past again:
Dune fortifies Saharan Pass.Wai fleets clash with Pirate Guild.Alfheim elite orders mobilized.Snaer declares 'War Measures Act.'Dunya neutral zone collapsing.
"And that's just the public stuff," Vesper said, voice grim. "Under the table? Assassinations. Poison. Artifact seizures. It's gonna get ugly."
Astra exhaled slowly, absorbing it all.
Before he could say more, a soft knock came at the door.
A servant, pale and breathless, poked their head in.
"My lords," she said, voice trembling slightly, "Saint Valerius will see you now."
The mood shifted immediately.
Vesper tossed back the rest of his drink and grinned.
"Well. Duty calls."
He ruffled Astra's curls as he passed. "Come on, princess. Let's see what the my grandfather wants before the sky falls."
Together, they stepped into the corridor, leaving the half-drunk glasses and the heavy scent of war behind them.
The door opened with a soft creak into a grand chamber, regal in architecture, but somehow… empty. Not of furniture or finery—no, the room was adorned lavishly. The room was regal, undeniably so, carved from dark stone veined with threads of gold that shimmered subtly beneath the candlelight. Every corner whispered prestige: tapestries woven with ancient triumphs, obsidian pillars inlaid with gold filigree, and skeletal remains of long-dead mana beasts suspended in enchanted stasis—serpentine ribs like curved blades, horned skulls with socketless eyes that seemed to watch him. The sigil of House Shadow, a coiled serpent biting its own tail, was embossed into every surface—an ouroboros of power and inevitability.
But despite the opulence, despite the sacred history that hummed within the relics and insignias of House Shadow… the room felt desolate. Compared to the radiant sanctum of the Angel of Shadows, this place was but a mausoleum—a memory stitched in velvet and bone.
Astra stepped in beside Vesper, both falling to one knee in perfect sync before the throne-like seat at the far end of the chamber. And seated there, shrouded in a cloak of living shadow, was Valerus, the Saint of Shadow—Vesper's grandfather.
He didn't sit on a throne, but he may as well have. A circle of darkened obsidian surrounded him, and the very shadows bent differently around his body—folding, coiling, breathing. His aura was suffocating without effort, thick and sharp as obsidian dust in the lungs. A quiet storm of mana moved in the air around him, restrained but immense, like a Vast Ocean pretending to be a man.
"Grandfather," Vesper said with a lopsided grin. "Looking regal as ever."
Valerus's lips curled into a dangerous smile. It was the kind of smile wolves gave before tearing flesh from bone. Shadows coiled tighter around his form, like serpents drawn to the warmth of his presence.
"Vesper. Astra. Welcome." he greeted, his voice a rasp of smoke and charm. "Congratulations are in order," the Saint said, voice calm, refined, but laced with something more—approval, expectation, calculation. "A Mythical core. The first in a many centuries to form one before twenty. Spectacular. The tournament footage… didn't do it justice."
Astra straightened, eyes steely, voice cold. "You used me."
The words fell like a blade striking stone. The tension in the room shifted instantly, the air curling colder.
Valerus blinked slowly. The smile didn't fade.
Astra continued, each word deliberate. "My discovery. My entry. The seedings. The opponents. The training. All of it—manipulated. I must thank you, though…" he paused, bowing ever so slightly, "for your condimental hospitality."
The two locked eyes, the tension thickening. Shadow deepened around the saint. Vesper laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
The Saint's smile widened just a touch. "Sharp tongue. You've grown into it well."
Valerus chuckled darkly. "Yeah, we did. But don't act like you didn't need Shadow. You were a street rat. A rat king. When you declared your path to the realms, you dragged yourself into this. You were a pawn… with teeth. A pawn that mattered. You should be grateful, Astra Noctis. You'd be dead the moment your coin glowed if we hadn't shielded you."
Astra smiled faintly. "Then thank you. And thank House Shadow. But be under no impression that I'll be used and discarded. I am a star. I am shadow. Not a squire, not a tool."
The Saint's eyes gleamed with interest. "Yes. We know. When you exceeded our designs and emerged with a Mythical core… well, that changed things."
"I bet it does," Astra murmured, rolling his eyes. For just a moment, the room darkened—one of the candles sputtered. He caught himself and reminded his heart to be quiet, to stop being an idiot.
Valerus leaned forward. "Nonetheless… war is here. The News Guild reports lies they're paid to spread while Houses set their pieces. Soon, truth will bleed into the world."
He folded his hands, shadows dancing along his knuckles. "Astra, your place in House Shadow is unique. Not fully adopted, yet bound by blood and fate. Your heritage with House Night… it matters, for you to fully grow into the lord of the stars, you'll need to be at least a Saint.. Our angel wishes to see your house rise again. And you… you are one of the few talents in this new age of war."
His tone sharpened. "House Hunt has Aster. House Dawn has Lucien. And the Dusken Scion… all Legendary, all dangerous. Our spies believe Lucien has also formed a Mythical core. What he did, we do not know. But that makes three geniuses in Saharan territory alone. Don't think you're that special."
Astra's eyes flickered as he recalled Lucien's cold wrath and Aster's overwhelming ferocity. "Terrifying bastards…"
Valerus continued, "For now, you are heir of House Night. But until you ascend further—Saint, Angel—your claim means little. You are a distant star, Astra, surrounded by the abyss. But you will grow. In strength. In influence."
He raised a finger.
"You shall be named Special Major. You are an envoy of the Night, It is customary for you to see battle."
Astra's eyes widened. "A major? But… my Saint, I'm barely Rank Two. How could I—"
"You won't lead much," Valerus cut in smoothly. "It's a protective detail. Social camouflage. Keeps Rank Three assassins from daring too close. Besides…" he smirked, "Don't sell yourself short. You hold a Mythical core. Its advantages are unique to each bearer. It will reveal itself with time. Frankly, you're already Rank Three in capability—just untrained."
Astra shivered slightly at that thought.
Valerus turned toward Vesper. "You have one week to ascend. If it's not Legendary, I'll skin you alive."
Vesper paled. "Yes, grandfather."
"When you ascend, you'll be named Major as well. But you will be expected to lead. And remember—we leave for the Umbral Plains and Shadowkeep in two days. Astra, expect assassins, even in 'safe' zones. Go to the armory. Get fitted. Standard gear, officer insignias."
He leaned back, half-smirking. "And Vesper—explain the rules of engagement to this dork."
"D-Dork?" Astra muttered under his breath.
"Dismissed."
Vesper and Astra bowed deeply once more, then turned and exited the room. Behind them, the shadows whispered and pulsed like a second heartbeat.
...
The doors closed behind them with a soft clang, muffling the echoes of the ceremonial hall. The corridor beyond was draped in deep violet and black banners, embroidered with the ouroboros—the eternal serpent, symbol of House Shadow—and lit by flickering magelights housed in golden sconces.
Astra and Vesper walked side by side, the latter stretching his arms behind his head.
"So," Vesper began, casually but with an edge of seriousness creeping into his voice, "we should probably talk about the rules before you start slicing through someone's spine in front of a divine witness."
Astra raised a brow. "You're referring to the Laws of Divine Engagement?"
Vesper nodded. "Exactly. They're old. Pre-kingdoms old. Back when the realms weren't fractured, and the gods walked freely. The Divine Council—Seraphs, mostly—laid them down. Not even the High Lords can dispute them."
As they turned the corner, two scions of House Shadow—minor nobles clad in dark officer cloaks—bowed deeply. One clenched a fist over his chest in salute to Vesper, the other knelt fully before Astra.
It startled him. He wasn't used to this level of recognition. He gave a slow, formal nod in return, keeping his expression unreadable.
"The laws," Vesper continued as they walked past, "are built to prevent chaos between blessed beings. ."
"The Divine Council—the Seraphs who watch from above—wrote the laws. Not following them can get a war declared on your whole House. They're the ones who stop Saints and Angels from just razing cities when they're bored," Vesper explained. "Some basics: No killing civilians unless they're armed and hostile. No destroying holy or mana-sensitive land. No harming healers, medics, or messengers wearing the divine seal. And no using divine-grade weapons without registering them with the Council's ledger., No Sending rank fives to kill cities and assassinations of lower ranked individuals, even rank fours cant combat rank twos, the rule of ranks is heavily enforced. plus you wont find a rank four wasting time on rank twos usually they're after their own rank fours or threes at the least, rank threes wont kill rank ones, but can kill rank twos, its a system thats enforced by divine beings, death by divine retribution can be very common."
"So they regulate combat, two rank rule, you cant engage combatants two lower ranks then you unless provked.?" Astra asked, voice low.
Vesper grinned. "Exactly. You kill someone important? You better make sure you earned it. The Divine Council doesn't mind death. But unjustified death? That shakes the balance."
They reached the wide doors of the estate's armory—tall slabs of obsidian metal etched with runes that glowed faintly gold. As the doors opened, the scent of smoke, molten iron, and oil rolled out like a wave.
The armory was a long hall, dark and gilded—every surface either shadow-black or etched with flickers of radiant gold. Racks of weapons lined the walls, from brutal greatswords to elegant spears. Suits of armor stood at attention in enchanted stasis, their mana-infused plates humming faintly. Above them, shadowsteel chandeliers glowed with floating orbs of pale, moonlight-like energy.
Waiting for them was a mountain of a man—as tall as the forge gate. A Dwarv, unmistakable, with skin as dark as basalt, golden eyes like twin molten cores, and a beard braided with rings bearing House Shadow's insignia.
"Vesper, YOU DAMNED IDIOT!" the bishop-armorer bellowed. "YOU BLEW UP HALF MY BASEMENT!"
Vesper visibly flinched, hands raised in surrender. "I—I was trying to test the limit of a compression rune—"
"YOU LIT THE FLOOR ON FIRE WITH A HOLY BOMB, YOU BRAINLESS PEACOCK!"
The forge master strode forward, clearly ready to strangle Vesper with his bare hands. The younger man all but hid behind Astra.
But then the Dwarv paused. His golden eyes locked onto Astra, narrowing as if discerning something far deeper than his clothing or face.
Then, softly, reverently:"I greet the heir of Night... Last of his kind."
Astra blinked. His throat caught. He didn't expect... that. Not from a bishop. Not from a forgemaster of Shadow.
He bowed stiffly. "I greet the forgemaster. I am Astra Noctis. A pleasure."
"Diladay Ruse," the Dwarv said with a toothy grin, instantly dropping Vesper like a sack of potatoes. "A pleasure indeed. Come. You two need gear that reflects who you are."
He led them through a side corridor to a deeper chamber—his private forge. The temperature shifted immediately, hotter, but comfortable. The forge room was humble but meticulously complex: gears rotated quietly behind glowing containment glass; bellows moved in rhythm with enchanted breathstones; racks held armor parts, some incomplete, others gleaming with runes.
"We'll start with officer insignias," Diladay said, motioning to a stand holding a military-style uniform. He turned to Vesper. "This is yours. Standard Shadow Officer attire—black undercloak, reinforced plates, gold embroidery. Ouroboros on both shoulders. Conduits inside the coat link to your mana for rank verification and field commands."
Vesper slipped into it with a grin, admiring the golden motifs and sharp fit. "Dashing, huh?"
"Don't flatter yourself," Diladay muttered. "Now you."
He turned to Astra, holding up a suit unlike any other. It was matte black, yet shimmered like a living sky. Constellations mapped across the chest and arms, stars of diamond and woven mana giving it a celestial glow. His right shoulder bore the shooting star of his forgotten House, and the left—the eternal ouroboros—marking him as a Major of Shadow.
Astra slid into it. It fit like a second skin. Light but strong. The enchantments whispered to him:
Celestial Channels
Field Repair
Environmental Resistance
Command Lattice Access
Moralize —a unique enchantment that projected his presence, heightening the emotions of those around him—loyalty, fear, awe, courage.
He looked... regal. A prince of stars. A shadow of heaven.
"Nice," Diladay said, giving a nod. "You two rascals finally look the part."
Vesper laughed. "Princes of Shadow and Night."
"Now then," the forgemaster said, holding out his hands. "Weapons. Let's see what you carry."
Astra unsheathed his sword and unbuckled his armor, laying them before Diladay.
The moment his hands touched them, the bishop went still. His golden eyes widened. His mana pulsed involuntarily, and the forge flickered.
"Astra... where did you get this?"
Astra blinked, then remembered. "Oh. Right. I forgot to mention... they were forged by an angel. Odinson. The Angel of Steel."
Diladay froze, then slowly, reverently placed the armor on a pedestal.
"Odinson... the Warden-Smith. A true legend." His voice hushed. "No wonder this armor sings to the stars. It's more than divine. It's living steel—it will grow with you."
He turned to Astra. "It is already Tier VI. But with celestial mana, we can push it to Tier VII. The armor will evolve."
Astra nodded. He placed his hand against the armor and let his mana flow.
It shuddered. Then drank.
A deep hum echoed through the forge. The black metal shimmered, then burst into sparkles, constellations etched into its surface like a tapestry of night.
His coin dinged in his mind:
[Armor Evolved]Nightshroud → NightskyTier: VII
"Neat," Astra whispered with a smirk.
Diladay grinned. "A proper gift for a prince of the night."
"You'll need a sword," the forgemaster continued. "Yours is rank one, but not built for command. Use a standard-issue officer blade—until you reach Shadowkeep. The Master of Arms will want to see you himself."
Astra bowed. "Very well."
Vesper returned then, his outfit perfectly fitted, one of the new officer swords at his belt.
They stood side by side—draped in night, stars, and gold.
"Damn," Diladay muttered with a laugh. "You two look like the dawn and dusk of this cursed age. Go lead. Shake the heavens a little."
Astra laughed at the lame Pun.
The heavy doors of the forge closed behind them with a gentle thud, leaving behind the warm hum of divine steel and the lingering scent of smoke and molten mana. The corridor ahead was quieter now, quieter than Astra expected. Wide and dimly lit, it wound through the heart of the Shadow estate, its blackstone floor veined with pale gold and starlight-blue mana channels that pulsed like veins beneath the skin of the keep.
Astra rolled his shoulders, the weight of the new uniform settling across him like a second skin. He didn't mind it. It felt... regal. Powerful. Like it was stitched from shadows and stitched again from legacy.
"So," Vesper said beside him, his stride relaxed, hands clasped behind his back. "Here's the rundown: There's going to be a ceremony soon, back at Shadowkeep. Your official recognition—titles, promotion, blood sigils, the whole thing. They'll try to keep it quiet, but you know how politics are."
Astra glanced sideways. "I assume it'll be anything but quiet."
"Of course," Vesper grinned. "Especially with what you did. After the fight with Aster, the entire estate lit up like a beacon. The old Lords are whispering again. Scheming and plotting, the whole shebang, many are gonna try to marry their daughters to you. you know."
Astra chuckled softly. "great, more girls to mess around with"
Vesper gave him a glance, thoughtful for a moment. Then, "And you dare call me presprutous, oh what was that about seraphine you wanted to tell me, that royal minx."
Astra didn't reply, but a smirk touched his lips.
"She actually scares me, not in the literal sense, but the way I feel around her is weird, I hate it to be honest, how she sees through me, somehow always teasing yet calculated. She came to my room right before I fought aster you know, and she even kissed me as she said some cryptic message...damn is she pretty though."
Vesper stared at Astra smiling
"Wow they grow up so fast, one day hes a little street rat, the other day hes a royal prince who commands stars and woos princesses, as your friend I am truly proud."
Astra rolled his eyes.
"Anyways my royal princess, we will be traveling to Shadowkeep via portal, In two days" Vesper continued, slipping easily back into a casual tone. The portal will close off soon however, no one wants a back channel into the shadow keep, this estate will become an embassy of sorts, with a bishop running it and a couple of rank threes and twos, the angels will leave and Duskfall will get ready for war."
Astra raised a brow. "And until then?"
"You're free to do as you like," Vesper said, pausing at a marble archway that opened into a courtyard of softly glowing night-flowers and pale obsidian benches. "Eat. Read. Meditate. Train. Hell, flirt if you're brave. Just don't leave the estate."
Astra tilted his head. "Why?"
Vesper stopped, gaze suddenly sharp beneath the soft ease. "Gods are u dense?, if you so much as set foot beyond the boundary wards, you'll be swarmed. An army of Rank Threes from every House with a grudge would descend like locusts. Some for coin. Some for honor. Some for your name."
Astra blinked. Then laughed, dry and amused. "Good to know. I'll keep my adventures limited to the garden."
Vesper exhaled in relief. "Thank the gods. You may be strong, but we're not all out a all out war before it's even declared due to you wanting to go drink booze."
"Ah....Ill have you know thats totally now what I wanted to do, I totally didn't want some alcoholic lemonade.." Astra acted hurt as he stepped into the courtyard and sank onto a stone bench near a small fountain, its waters whispering they circled a sculpture of the Shadow serpent coiled around a sword.
He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment, letting it all settle. The tension. The whispers. The war he'd just barely walked through.
And then it hit him.
"Wait," he said, cracking an eye open. "What happened after my match? I blacked out after Aster."
Vesper dropped onto the bench beside him, stretching like a cat. "Oh, that was madness. Rank Two and Three fights went wild. People started pulling techniques from centuries ago. A girl from Dawn summoned an ancient sun technique. Someone from Hunt carved their mana into a radiant spear mid-duel. It was chaos."
Astra blinked. "And the results?"
Vesper grinned. "Hunt took the tournament. Shocked everyone. Shadow finished seventh—though to be fair, you carried us into the top ten. Dawn got fourth. Guild of War came in second, which was extremely unexpected."
"War?" Astra asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought they were a dying guild."
Vesper shook his head. "Apparently not. Their following's growing like wildfire. Halls expanding all over Apu. Their sanctuaries are packed—mercenaries, warriors, wanderers. They live for bloodshed and battle. It's not just a guild now—it's a cult of conflict. You can find them everywhere."
Astra leaned forward, watching the ripples in the fountain. "And Rank Four matches?"
"Canceled," Vesper said flatly. "The political wheel started spinning faster than anyone expected. When you collapsed, four Shadow bishops immediately surrounded you. Rank Four. Pulled you out like you were the last ember of the cosmos. The angel insisted you be brought here, under direct protection."
Astra frowned. "They're that afraid someone might come for me?"
Vesper was quiet for a moment. "You're not just strong, Astra. You're something old. Something lost. The Houses remember what your bloodline was before the fall. And now... it's returned. They'd rather guard a sleeping god than risk you dying in the field."
Astra exhaled slowly, then chuckled to himself.
"Welp," he said with a lopsided grin, "this is my life now. A wanted prince of the lost House of Night."
They both laughed.
As they stood and continued walking the corridors—long, echoing halls draped in black silk and subtle enchantments—nobles and servants paused in quiet deference. Some offered nods, others saluted formally with a hand over heart or chest. The symbol on Astra's left shoulder—Major of Shadow—was enough to command respect. But it was the way his presence bent the shadows, how his uniform shimmered with constellations, that made people lower their gaze.
The two young Majors walked like the rising dusk—Astra in quiet grace, Vesper in casual swagger—past ancient doors and shadow-lit halls.
And for a moment, as the serpent banners swayed above them and the Night's legacy stirred again in silence, the world held its breath.