The night sky had returned to normal.
The eighty-eight constellations had vanished.
The ritual formation was slowly losing its brilliance.
The sacred chants had ceased.
The winds of the northern plains once again flowed through the gardens of Rosenfeld Estate.
Everything appeared normal.
Yet nobody present felt normal.
Because moments ago—
They had witnessed something that should not have existed.
Something that would force scholars to rewrite books.
Something that would make temples question centuries of doctrine.
Something that would become a legend before dawn even arrived.
And at the center of it all stood a fifteen-year-old boy.
Kel Rosenfeld.
The heir who rejected eighty-eight constellations.
Duke Aktaris von Rosenfeld
The Slaughter Dragon stood beneath the starlight.
His dark cloak fluttered behind him.
The cold wind moved through his silver hair.
His expression remained composed.
As always.
Yet those who knew him well would have noticed something unusual.
His eyes.
They had not left Kel even once.
For years Duke Aktaris had believed in his son.
Even when doctors gave up.
Even when nobles whispered.
Even when the empire mocked the cursed heir.
He had never abandoned faith in Kel.
Yet tonight—
Even his expectations had been shattered.
Not because Kel attracted eighty-eight constellations.
Though that alone was absurd.
But because he rejected them.
The Duke understood power.
Understood ambition.
Understood human nature.
Most people would have chosen immediately.
The strongest constellation.
The rarest constellation.
The most prestigious constellation.
Kel chose none.
Not because he lacked courage.
Not because he feared commitment.
But because he genuinely believed there was a greater path.
A path beyond the stars.
The Duke slowly folded his arms.
"You truly are my son."
The thought appeared naturally.
A faint smile touched his lips.
The same stubbornness.
The same refusal to bow.
The same desire to challenge impossible things.
Perhaps even more than himself.
Helena Rosenfeld
Kel's mother remained silent.
Her silver eyes shimmered under moonlight.
Unlike the others—
She cared little for constellation theory.
Little for celestial mysteries.
Little for historical significance.
What occupied her thoughts was far simpler.
Kel looked happy.
That was enough.
For years she had watched him suffer.
Watched him struggle to breathe.
Watched him force smiles despite pain.
Tonight—
For the first time in a very long time—
He looked free.
Not bound by fate.
Not bound by illness.
Not bound by expectations.
Free.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
This time she did not wipe it away.
Aria Rosenfeld
Aria stood motionless.
Completely motionless.
Her silver eyes remained fixed upon the night sky.
She was trying to understand.
Trying very hard.
And failing.
Because no matter how she analyzed it—
No matter how she rearranged the logic—
Nothing made sense.
Eighty-eight constellations had answered.
Then Kel rejected them.
As though he had been offered an entire kingdom and casually declined.
"What kind of person does that?"
The answer came immediately.
"Kel."
Aria sighed.
That answer somehow solved everything.
And explained nothing.
A small smile appeared.
Because despite how absurd the situation was—
It felt very Kel-like.
Doing something impossible.
Then making everyone else question reality afterward.
Aria's Father
The eldest uncle of House Rosenfeld rubbed his temples.
A headache was forming.
A severe one.
Because he was already imagining future conversations.
Future meetings.
Future noble gatherings.
People would ask questions.
Lots of questions.
And he had absolutely no idea how to answer them.
"What happened during Kel's awakening?"
What was he supposed to say?
"Every constellation in existence chose him and then he rejected all of them?"
Nobody would believe that.
Yet it was true.
The uncle sighed heavily.
For the first time in years—
He felt sympathy for future historians.
The Younger Cousins
Chaos.
Pure chaos.
Several younger cousins had already begun arguing.
"No, there were definitely more than eighty stars."
"There were hundreds."
"No, Father said eighty-eight."
"Then why didn't he choose one?"
"Maybe he forgot."
"How do you forget to choose a constellation?"
The argument continued.
None of them understood.
None of them were expected to.
Even the adults were struggling.
Kel's Younger Brother
His younger brother stared toward the ritual circle.
The place where Kel had stood.
His eyes shone with admiration.
Because unlike the adults—
He wasn't thinking about politics.
History.
Religion.
Or celestial theory.
He was thinking one thing.
"Big brother is amazing."
Simple.
Pure.
Direct.
Kel's Younger Sister
The young girl looked even more excited.
To her—
Constellations weren't important.
Her brother was.
And tonight—
Everyone had witnessed something involving her brother.
Which automatically made it extraordinary.
She had already decided.
Tomorrow she would tell all her friends.
Repeatedly.
Whether they wanted to hear it or not.
The Seven Priests
The priests gathered together.
For once—
None of them possessed immediate answers.
That fact alone was unsettling.
The Priest of Dawn stared upward.
"The stars answered."
The Priest of Knowledge nodded.
"All of them."
The Priest of Judgment frowned.
"And he rejected them."
Silence followed.
Because every statement sounded ridiculous.
Yet every statement was true.
The Priest of War eventually spoke.
"I have witnessed wars."
"I have witnessed heroes."
"I have witnessed saints."
A pause.
"Tonight is stranger."
Nobody disagreed.
The Five Priestesses
Nearby—
The priestesses were equally disturbed.
Especially the Priestess of Fate.
Her gaze remained fixed upon Kel.
Not with fear.
With uncertainty.
A rare emotion.
Because fate relied upon paths.
Choices.
Possibilities.
Constellations represented those possibilities.
Yet Kel had refused to choose.
Which created a problem.
A very large problem.
If he did not choose a path—
How could fate predict him?
The thought unsettled her.
Deeply.
The Priestess of Stars eventually spoke.
"Perhaps he chose."
Several priestesses looked toward her.
She continued softly.
"Perhaps we simply failed to understand what he chose."
The others became silent.
Because that possibility was somehow more frightening.
The Temple Attendants
The attendants had completely abandoned professionalism.
Small groups formed everywhere.
Whispers spread endlessly.
"Did you see it?"
"Of course I saw it."
"No, I mean really see it."
"Every constellation answered."
"I know."
"And he rejected them."
"I know."
"WHY?"
Nobody had an answer.
One young temple maiden quietly stared at Kel from afar.
Then shook her head.
"No wonder he's famous."
Another immediately replied.
"He wasn't famous before."
The first attendant pointed toward Kel.
"He definitely will be now."
Nobody argued.
Because that was undoubtedly true.
The Ritual Masters
Several older attendants who specialized in awakening ceremonies stood near the formation.
Their expressions had become increasingly pale.
They had spent decades studying awakenings.
Decades.
Every rule they knew had been broken tonight.
One elderly ritual master looked ready to retire.
Immediately.
The Garden Itself
The strange atmosphere remained.
Even after the ritual ended.
Even after the stars returned to normal.
The garden felt different.
As though reality itself still remembered what had happened.
The stone pathways.
The silver lanterns.
The ritual circle.
The snow-covered trees.
Everything felt touched by something larger.
Something impossible.
Something that would never be forgotten.
Eventually—
The priests began dismissing their attendants.
The ritual formation was deactivated.
Families started returning toward the estate.
Conversations slowly resumed.
Yet every discussion inevitably returned to one topic.
Kel Rosenfeld.
The boy who called all eighty-eight constellations.
The boy who rejected destiny.
The boy who stood beneath the heavens and said—
No.
And as the stars silently watched from above—
Every person present understood one thing.
Tonight would be remembered.
Not merely by House Rosenfeld.
Not merely by the Twelve Temples.
Not merely by the North.
But by history itself.
Because centuries later, scholars would still debate what happened in this garden.
Priests would still argue about its meaning.
Nobles would still tell the story.
The Night of Eighty-Eight Stars.
The night when the heavens offered every path.
And a fifteen-year-old boy chose to walk none of them.