The fleeting vision and sorrowful whisper beneath the old watchtower had left an indelible mark on Velian. What he now called the "lingering shadow" was no longer a curious anomaly—it was a presence, ancient and weary, stirring in him a complex blend of fear and a strange, empathetic pull. He avoided the tower for a time, the memory of that sorrow too unsettling.
His ninth year was drawing to a close, and subtle changes in him had become more evident. Mana Sense had become second nature, a constant undercurrent to his perception of the world. He could now distinguish auras with striking clarity—sensing not only emotions but glimpses of a person's innate talents or physical well-being. Once, he had told Cook Martha, with childlike innocence, that the "light around her baking hand was brighter than the other," a week before she began complaining of stiffness in her left wrist—later confirmed by the village healer as early joint inflammation. These pronouncements, always sincere and unassuming, only deepened the staff's hushed reverence for the "Star-Child."
His telekinetic abilities had also matured. He could now manipulate objects nearing ten pounds in weight, and his precision had sharpened enough that Kaelen had him practice disarming training dummies—telekinetically unbuckling straps or nudging weapons from their grasp.
[Lesser Telekinesis (Rank F) proficiency at 75%. Max weight limit approaching Rank E potential.][Mana Sense (Rank F) proficiency at 85%. Aura interpretation accuracy significantly improved.]
The System notifications offered quiet affirmation of his growth, but the most significant one—the "Ignition Sequence Available" for his Star-Forged Core—remained a tantalizing, unreachable promise. Elara and Kaelen hadn't spoken of it again directly, but Velian, with his heightened senses, could feel the tension behind their silences—their constant, low-humming debate.
Their search for a mentor or institution had yielded little. Kaelen's contacts had proven slow and unreliable. The Grand Astral Lyceum remained a distant, almost mythical option. The idea of sending their son—still not ten—on such a perilous journey weighed heavily on their hearts.
One blustery autumn evening, the family sat in the small solar, a fire crackling against the chill wind that howled beyond the stone walls. Kaelen was teaching Velian a complex strategy game on a carved wooden board—a game of foresight and measured risk. Elara was mending one of Velian's tunics, her needle moving in steady rhythm, masking her inner unrest.
Though playing, Velian seemed distracted. His gaze kept drifting to the window, toward the old watchtower, barely visible in the fading light. The wind, he thought, sounded unusually mournful, echoing the sadness he had felt from the lingering shadow.
"Is something troubling you, Velian?" Elara asked gently, noticing his abstraction.
Velian hesitated. He hadn't spoken of the whisper or shadowy vision since the incident."The old tower, Mama," he said at last, voice low. "The... secret beneath it. It feels... colder tonight. And sadder."
Kaelen paused, alert. "Colder? How so?"
"Just… a deeper cold," Velian said, focusing his Mana Sense on that distant point. "And the sadness feels... heavier. Like it's stirring in its sleep." His sky-blue eyes met theirs, troubled. "Is it... dangerous, Papa?"
Kaelen and Elara exchanged a meaningful glance. This was no child's fancy. Velian's senses were too sharp, his perceptions too accurate.
"We don't know, son," Kaelen said honestly. "But anything that old, that hidden... deserves caution."
"The Azuris chronicles mention nothing buried there," Elara added, frowning. "Only that the tower predates the first Azuris settlers. But your senses perceive what no written record does."
Later that night, with Velian asleep, the conversation between his parents turned urgent.
"He feels it more strongly, Kaelen," Elara said, voice tight with concern. "Whatever it is... what if it's dangerous? What if it awakens? We're isolated. Our resources are limited."
"And Velian is both our greatest strength and greatest vulnerability," Kaelen replied, pacing before the hearth. "That Star-Forged Core... it's a beacon, Elara. Once ignited, it could attract forces we're unprepared for—good and bad. But if left dormant, and something like that," he gestured toward the tower, "becomes a threat..."
The unspoken fear settled heavily. Velian needed to grow stronger—not just for his path, but perhaps for their very survival. And they were ill-equipped to guide him further.
"The Lyceum," Kaelen said, halting his pacing. "Or someone with equivalent mastery. We can't delay any longer. Keeping him here is becoming riskier than sending him away."
Elara closed her eyes, a tear escaping. "He is so young."
"He is Velian Azuris," Kaelen said, going to her, taking her hands. "Born of starlight and storm. He's stronger than we know. And he won't remain a child forever. We've given him a foundation. Now he needs master builders."
Once voiced, the decision seemed to change the air itself. A painful acceptance. A threshold crossed. In the following weeks, the keep filled with a quiet intensity of preparation. Kaelen doubled efforts to find a trustworthy escort or safe passage. Elara began meticulously copying selections from her prized scrolls, assembling a portable library of celestial lore for Velian.
Velian wasn't told outright, but he knew. He saw the way his parents looked at him—pride, sorrow, and quiet resolve woven into their gazes. He noticed the hush that fell over rooms when he entered. And within him, a strange blend of excitement and trepidation bloomed. The world beyond Azuris Keep—the Grand Astral Lyceum, other star-singers—was calling.
One crisp morning, as winter's grip tightened on the coast, a message arrived. A weary rider on a foam-flecked horse delivered it. It came from an old, trusted contact—a retired Royal Guard captain now running a small but reputable merchant caravan. He owed Kaelen a life-debt and offered safe passage for "a young ward" on a journey inland, near the Lyceum's region.
The time had come.
That evening, Kaelen and Elara sat Velian down before the fire. The strategy game lay forgotten.
"Velian," Kaelen began carefully, "your mother and I have been discussing your... education. Your gifts are growing stronger every day."
"We want you to have the best teachers, sweetling," Elara said, her voice thick. "Teachers who truly understand the star songs and weaving of starlight. There's a place called the Grand Astral Lyceum—where such knowledge lives."
Velian looked between them, gaze steady though his heart pounded. He had known, somehow, this moment would come."Am I... going there?" he asked.
"Yes, son," Kaelen said. "Soon. A safe path has opened. It's a long journey, and you'll be gone for a while."
A wave of emotion washed over him—sorrow at leaving his home, his parents, the warmth of the keep. But beneath that was something stronger: a thrill of anticipation, a thirst for knowledge, a sense of destiny unfolding. He thought of the star-filled sky, the sleeping core within him, the mysteries waiting beyond the horizon.
He looked at his parents—loving, worried, proud. He was only nine, yet in that moment, a flicker of the Sovereign Mirage—that unshakable composure, that clarity of purpose—gleamed in his sky-blue eyes.
"I understand," he said clearly. "When do we leave?"
The threshold had been crossed. The Star-Child of Azuris was ready to take his first true step into the wider world.