The morning light filtered through the thin, crystalline panes of the guest chamber, gilding the ancient stone walls with a warm, amber glow. Caelan stirred beneath the velvet covers, his body aching with the kind of weariness that came not from battle—but from dreams that refused to let him go.
He had dreamt of his world again.
Of his mother's laughter, warm and bright like a campfire in winter.
Of the sound of the city—cars honking, rain splattering on glass, neon lights painting streaks across the night.
And of the moment he was pulled away. A blur of stars, a surge of white-hot light, and then this world—filled with magic, secrets, and a thousand watching eyes.
Caelan sat up, rubbing his temples. The ceiling was etched with sigils he couldn't understand, and the pillow still carried the faint scent of lavender and parchment. For a moment, he almost believed he was still dreaming.
A soft knock echoed through the chamber. The door creaked open, revealing Princess Elira—not in her usual royal regalia, but in a simple tunic and boots, her silver hair tied in a braid that fell over one shoulder.
"You're awake," she said quietly. "Good. There's something I want to show you."
Caelan blinked. "No cryptic warnings this time? No bodyguards with suspicious eyes?"
Elira offered a small, tired smile. "Just you and me. For once."
They walked in silence down a quiet corridor, where stained-glass windows cast pools of colored light on the marble floors. Caelan noticed that they were moving downward—past the public halls and into the castle's deeper levels.
Eventually, they reached a sealed door flanked by twin statues—two warriors carved from obsidian, faces hidden behind broken masks.
Elira pressed her palm against the door. A whisper of magic stirred in the air. The door groaned open, revealing a chamber lit only by the soft glow of floating lanterns. Inside, a circular table stood in the center, its surface inscribed with concentric rings of golden glyphs.
"What is this place?" Caelan asked, awed.
"The Astral Convergence Chamber," Elira replied, stepping forward. "It's where our ancestors communed with the stars. Where they made pacts with the Celestials and shaped the fate of realms."
Caelan frowned. "And you brought me here because…?"
Elira turned to him, her expression grave. "Because something is shifting. The stars have begun to whisper again. And they speak of you."
Before he could reply, the glyphs on the table began to glow—softly at first, then in sharp pulses that resonated in his bones. A soft humming filled the chamber. Elira reached into a small pouch and withdrew a delicate orb—smooth, translucent, and swirling with faint light.
"This is a Celestial Echo," she said. "It records fragments of prophecy. Memories left by those who touched the divine."
She set it gently on the table.
"Touch it," she whispered. "Let it show you."
Caelan hesitated. "Is it safe?"
Elira nodded, though the tightness in her jaw said otherwise.
He reached out and placed his fingertips against the orb.
And the world changed.
He stood on a vast plain under a black sky. Stars hung impossibly close above him, swirling like a living tapestry of light and shadow. A figure approached—cloaked in midnight, eyes burning with silver flame.
"You have crossed the veil," the figure said. "And with you, the thread between two worlds begins to unravel."
"Who are you?" Caelan asked, his voice distant, like it belonged to someone else.
"I am the Watcher Between Realms. And you are the Anomaly."
Caelan stepped back. "Anomaly?"
The Watcher extended a hand, revealing a broken shard of crystal. "You do not belong, yet you are necessary. You were not chosen, yet you are needed. Your heart is the key. But it must first be broken."
The shard floated toward him, and as it touched his chest, pain exploded through him—sharp and luminous and ancient.
He gasped and fell backward, nearly collapsing to the floor as Elira caught him.
"Caelan!" she shouted, holding him steady. "Breathe!"
He blinked rapidly, heart thundering in his chest. "What the hell was that?!"
"A vision," she said. "One of many that have echoed in this room. But yours… yours was different. Stronger. Clearer."
Caelan stared at her, anger rising in his throat. "You brought me here to be some kind of pawn in a prophecy?! Is that what this is about?"
"No!" Elira said quickly. "Not a pawn. A catalyst. We don't fully understand it either. But the stars have turned, and their attention is on you. That means something."
He pulled away from her, pacing. "Every day I'm here, I understand less. I'm not some hero. I didn't ask for this. I just want to go home."
Elira's expression softened. "And I want to help you get there. But that vision… that power… it's tied to your very soul. You can't ignore it."
Caelan turned to her, eyes searching. "Then help me understand. Please. I don't want to be in the dark anymore."
She nodded slowly. "There's someone you need to meet."
That night, under the twin moons of Aerithya, Elira led Caelan through a secret path beneath the castle. At the end of the tunnel lay a vast grove—silent, silver trees rustling in the windless air. In its center stood an ancient being—tall, robed in starlight, with skin that shimmered like liquid glass.
"This is Orien," Elira whispered. "A Celestial Keeper."
Caelan stepped forward, his instincts both terrified and awestruck.
Orien's voice was not a sound, but a resonance that filled the air around them. "The human who walks between veils. At last, we meet."
Caelan swallowed. "You know me?"
"I have seen echoes of you in the Astral Tapestry. You are a fracture and a flame. Your arrival has awakened ancient forces."
Caelan took a shaky breath. "And what happens if I refuse? If I don't want this power? This role?"
"The stars do not coerce," Orien replied. "But they observe. And if left unchecked, the darkness that follows you will consume more than just this realm."
He stepped forward and held out a hand.
"Make a pact, Caelan Everhart. Bind your heart not in chains—but in purpose. And I will guide you."
Caelan hesitated, the weight of everything pressing in on him—his lost world, the danger looming, the strange pull inside him he could no longer deny.
Slowly, he reached out and took Orien's hand.
The grove exploded in light.
When he came to, Caelan stood beneath the stars—alone, but changed.
In his palm, a glowing sigil pulsed gently.
Elira stood nearby, her eyes wide with wonder. "You did it," she whispered.
Caelan nodded, his voice quiet but firm. "Then let's stop pretending I don't belong here."
She smiled for the first time that day. "Good. Because things are about to get a lot more dangerous."