"Master Veylen, a messenger bird. It's addressed to you."
The young disciple's voice echoed through the sandstone pillars of the sacred sanctuary. He approached the astrologer, scroll in hand, his robes brushing against the wind-swept floor of the high tower.
Veylen didn't stir. His gaze remained fixed on the North Star above, clouded eyes reflecting its pale shimmer. "It's from the palace."
The student blinked. "But… you haven't even looked at it."
"I don't need to," Veylen said, voice low, gravelly, as if scraped from centuries of silence. "The stars speak clearer than ink ever could."
The boy hesitated. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"
Veylen finally turned. His face, usually calm as a frozen lake, was tight, his brow furrowed. "The North Star has been pulsing for three nights. The last time it did that, the Eastern Sea swallowed five cities."
The disciple swallowed hard and handed over the message. Veylen unrolled it with a practiced hand. The wax crumbled like dried blood.
His eyes skimmed the contents, though part of him already knew what it would say. And there it was, in the swift, sharp script of the Royal Scribe:
The northern seal is broken. The Devil has crossed into the realm. His Majesty summons you at once.
The 24 old young astrologer sighed. "So it has begun."
"What has begun, Master?"
Veylen's eyes narrowed on the horizon. "Doom, boy. A doom we buried centuries ago. It was always going to return the day a blood-soaked king claimed the throne."
The disciple flinched. "King Arthro?"
Veylen nodded slowly. "I saw it the day he seized the crown — the stars wept. But now it is not sorrow they show me. It is wrath."
The wind howled through the sacred place, as if stirred by his words.
"Pack my robes," he said suddenly. "I must leave before the moon reaches its peak."
"But, Master, the palace lies across the desert. Even with the fastest carriage, it'll take a full day!"
Veylen was already moving, long fingers plucking celestial charts and tucking them into his satchel. "Not if I ride. A horse will halve the time."
The disciple hesitated. "Then I'll fetch the best from the herd."
Veylen paused. "Not the best — the fastest. There's a difference."
"Yes, Master." The boy turned to leave.
"Wait," Veylen said, catching his student's arm. "While I'm gone, your duty is here. Watch the skies. Chart everything. If even the faintest star shifts, send word."
The boy straightened. "I understand."
But Veylen didn't let go. His voice dropped, trembling with something deeper than fear. "Listen carefully. If the Serpent's Tail constellation vanishes, do not send word. Do not speak to anyone. Flee. Head east and never look back."
The disciple's lips parted, but no sound came. He could only nod.
Veylen's gaze softened. "You've learned much. Trust the stars now, even when men fall to madness."
He released the boy and turned to his mount, already prepared at the temple gate. The stallion — black as spilled ink, with eyes like burning embers — snorted and stomped the ground.
"You still sense it, don't you?" Veylen whispered to the beast as he tightened the saddle. "The scent of vengeance."
The horse neighed, uneasy.
"It's strong. Too strong." He mounted and looked back once more. "The calamity didn't start today. It began the moment Arthro claimed his brothers' blood and wore the crown."
The disciple watched him ride off, the sands billowing around the horse's hooves like a rising storm. The stars above began to fade under a veil of cloud, the first omen of many.
The desert night was cruel.
Cold winds slashed across Veylen's face, tugging at his hood as the horse galloped under the darkening sky. Time bled together — minutes felt like seconds, and hours stretched like shadows at dusk.
He clutched the scroll tighter.
The northern seal is broken.
The words echoed in his head like a cursed chant.
He remembered the seal — a stone gate, hidden beneath the ruins of the old empire, bound by celestial chains, anchored by ancient magic. It was the final barrier against the Devil who had once brought the kingdom to its knees.
And now it was gone.
He urged the horse faster.
Sand cut across his face, stinging his skin. Still he pushed forward, body aching, lips dry, heart thundering. Images flashed in his mind — the capital burning, children screaming, temples collapsing.
A vision seized him.
He saw a throne soaked in blood, and upon it, not King Arthro, but a veiled figure — cloaked in divine light, her eyes burning with vengeance, her hand outstretched as flames danced from her fingertips. Around her, the court lay in ruin. Ashes and bones.
"Who are you…" Veylen whispered, the vision fading.
He knew now. It wasn't just a devil that returned. Something — or someone — else had awakened. The stars pulsed not only with danger… but with retribution.
He reached for the pouch strapped to his saddle, retrieving a thin obsidian mirror.
"Show me," he muttered.
The surface rippled, swirling into a reflection not of him, but of the palace. Shadows darted in the corridors. Guards whispered. The throne room was lit, though it was deep into the night.
Then he saw King Arthro — tall, lean, his golden armor streaked with crimson.
A faint voice whispered from the mirror. "He knows."
Veylen shattered the mirror with a curse and tossed it to the wind.
His horse faltered. Not from fear — from the overwhelming weight of magic building in the air.
The stars flickered above, one by one.
Then the North Star vanished.
Veylen pulled the reins hard and leapt from the saddle.
"No," he breathed. "Not yet. Please."
He fell to his knees, drawing a circle in the sand with his finger. Symbols followed — star scripts, sigils older than the kingdom itself.
He began to chant.
The sky trembled.
His voice rose, desperate, fighting whatever force had just blotted the star from existence.
Light burst from the symbols, illuminating the night.
And then — stillness.
The North Star blinked back into view, dimmer, but alive.
Veylen slumped forward, drained. His vision swam.
"I've bought us time," he muttered, coughing into the sand. "But not much."
He climbed back onto the horse, though his limbs screamed in protest.
"I have to reach the palace before the next star falls."
The horse snorted and ran — faster now, as if it, too, understood.
At dawn, as the first sliver of light broke over the eastern mountains, Veylen saw the high towers of the palace pierce the horizon.
He whispered to himself, voice trembling with fatigue, awe, and dread.
"King Arthro… the devil is not your only enemy."
And deep in his chest, an old wound reopened — the wound of foresight. The cost of knowing what others would suffer.
But Veylen pressed on, because the stars had shown him a woman draped in divine fire, and her wrath would burn the kingdom clean.
Whether it rose again or turned to dust — that, even the stars could not yet say.
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