In the world of Elarion, seven great empires ruled the lands like stars across the heavens—each with their own legacy, laws, and bloodlines of power.
Veyruun, the Empire of Legacy, where bloodline defined status and the strongest noble houses were born.
Astralis, the oldest empire, standing neutral in world affairs, and home to the prestigious Astralis Institute.
Thalorai, empire of oceans and storms, where magic flowed like tides and waterbenders ruled.
Serikhan, the desert empire of flame and wind, where nomads communed with sand and tempest spirits.
Caelaris, the sky empire of lightning, known for its floating cities and airborne military.
Morvain, forged in stone and runes, where mountains bowed to the earthborn.
Nocthera, veiled in endless dusk, a place of whispers, illusions, and forgotten truths.
From Veyruun, five noble houses stood above all others:
House Drakaris, one of the strongest and most feared, with the blood of dragons running hot in their veins.
House Vireon, masters of shadows and silent power, moving unseen through the folds of space.
House Valehart, breakers of the unbreakable, their fists alone enough to crack mountains and bones alike.
House Viridion, quiet keepers of nature's balance, wielding the wild's beauty and wrath.
And the Fifth House, its name shrouded in mystery, its power unknown but always watching.
Among them was a girl who didn't belong—at least, not by choice.
Celeste Viridion, only daughter of House Viridion. But here, she was no daughter of nobility. No star among heirs. No warrior scion.
She was Celeste Vira, orphan scholarship student from the outskirts of the empire, or so the world believed.
She kept her hood low as the wind rustled the flags above the obsidian gates of Astralis Institute. Her fingers, pale and trembling, clutched the strap of a worn satchel that held everything she owned.
Students poured in from all sides—arriving by skyship, rune portal, or beast-drawn carriage. Their robes shimmered with magic sigils, house crests sewn across their chests with arrogance and pride.
But not her.
Her robes were plain gray. Her face hidden beneath the illusion of dull brown hair and sun-splotched skin. She'd even stooped her posture—unlearned her grace—just to seem forgettable.
And it worked.
No one looked twice at her.
Which was exactly how she liked it.
Because the truth was dangerous.
Celeste had never asked to be born with the stars in her blood. Her gift—a cursed one, her mother once said—allowed her to channel the power of each zodiac. Pyrokinesis of Aries. Invisibility of Scorpio. Dream walking of Pisces.
But she never used them. Not anymore.
Because power, in Veyruun, didn't bring love. It brought expectation, hunger, and betrayal. And for a girl who had once trusted too easily, that lesson had cut deep.
She'd come here not to prove anything—but to escape. From the weight of her parents' names. From the eyes that saw only potential, never a person. From the world that loved strength and spat on the weak.
"Move, peasant."
Celeste flinched as a boy in gleaming red and silver bumped her shoulder without so much as a glance.
She dipped her head. Silently.
The moment passed.
Then came the silence-breaker: a roaring cheer from the crowd gathered at the plaza entrance.
Celeste turned just slightly, drawn to the spectacle.
A silver-dragon carriage rolled into the courtyard, its wheels glowing with arcane runes. The crest blazed across its doors: a crimson dragon breathing fire into the sky.
House Drakaris.
The crowd parted as two figures stepped out.
The first, taller and colder in presence, was Valric Drakaris—eldest son of House Drakaris. His silver eyes scanned the gathering like a general measuring soldiers. Ice licked at his fingers before fading, a sign of his dragon's breath.
Beside him, grinning, was his younger brother.
Auren Drakaris.
He was everything Celeste was not—loud, bright, golden. His flame-red hair shimmered in the sunlight, his movements effortless, his laugh contagious. He waved, greeted strangers like old friends, and walked like the whole world already belonged to him.
It didn't surprise Celeste that people stepped aside for him without protest.
He was made to be seen.
Her? She was born to vanish.
"Oi! Late again, flame boy," a voice drawled from the pillar near the main fountain.
There stood Kael Vireon, arms crossed, shadows coiling faintly around his boots. His dark eyes watched everything, saying little but seeing too much.
"Rhydan nearly ate an entire bear while waiting," Kael added dryly.
The mountain of a boy next to him—Rhydan Valehart—grinned and crushed an apple in his palm. "Was hungry. Dragonboy took forever."
Auren laughed and raised both hands. "My brother nearly froze the gate guards when they complimented his hair. Not my fault."
Celeste smiled, just faintly.
The four of them—Auren, Valric, Kael, and Rhydan—were legends before they even stepped through the gates. Sons of houses that shaped empires. Powerful, loyal, unshakable.
They'd have their own destinies. Their own fights. Their own girls who would match them one day.
And Celeste? She had only one goal.
Stay hidden.
She turned away from the noise, from the sunlight, from the stars she once called family.
But even as she stepped forward toward the shadows of the courtyard, the constellation mark on her wrist—the one sealed beneath silver thread—pulsed softly.
As if whispering…
You can't hide forever.