In the world of Astraea, no child was ever born alone.
That was the truth taught in temples, written in history books, and whispered by parents as lullabies. The moment a newborn took their first breath, the heavens responded. Light bent. The air trembled. And a Guardian descended—an existence granted by God, binding itself to the child's soul for life.
Some Guardians appeared as radiant angels with wings of fire or crystal. Others manifested as towering figures clad in divine armor, etched with holy symbols older than language itself. On every Guardian's chest burned glowing stars—marks of rank and authority. One star meant little more than protection. Nine stars meant overwhelming power, enough to summon a fragment of God into the mortal realm.
There had never been more than nine.
Guardians did not choose their summoners. They were assigned. They could speak, advise, and even disagree, but they did not possess free will. When a command was given, they obeyed without exception. That was the law of the world.
Magic, however, belonged to humans.
Every person was born with magic sleeping in their soul. With training, anyone could cast spells—attack magic, barriers, healing, and more. But without a Guardian to amplify and stabilize that power, magic was weak and dangerous. Spells drained the body, burned the veins, and often failed at critical moments.
That was why Sanctum Academies existed. Why children trained to synchronize with their Guardians. Why those without one were considered incomplete.
Aeris Valen learned she was different at six years old.
During the Guardian Awakening Ceremony, children stood in a wide circle, hands shaking, eyes bright with anticipation. One by one, the air responded. Light descended. Wings unfolded. Voices echoed across the courtyard.
When it was Aeris's turn, nothing happened.
The air remained still. No light reached for her. No presence touched her soul.
The instructors whispered. The priests frowned. Her classmates stared.
They told her sometimes Guardians awakened late.
Days passed. Weeks followed. Then years.
Nothing ever came.
By the time Aeris entered Sanctum Academy, hope had turned into certainty. She was guardianless.
Students mocked her openly. Some avoided her as if her condition were contagious. Instructors watched her with thinly veiled pity, others with annoyance. She heard the words even when no one said them aloud—rejected by God, a mistake, a liability.
Aeris tried to prove them wrong.
She studied harder than anyone else, memorizing spell structures and incantations late into the night. She practiced until her hands shook and her mana ran dry. She could cast spells—light bolts, shields, healing magic—but they were weak. Where others shattered stone, she barely cracked it. Where others raised solid barriers, hers flickered and collapsed.
Each failure carved the same thought deeper into her mind.
Maybe God really didn't answer her.
The night everything changed came quietly.
Aeris had stayed late in the academy archives, searching through forbidden texts on Guardian theory—hoping to find some explanation for her existence. When she left, the halls were empty. She took the lower path back to her dorm, the one that passed near the old ruins.
That was when the air grew heavy.
Rot filled her lungs. The night felt wrong.
She stopped walking.
Two figures crawled out from the shadows—twisted bodies with cracked skin and glowing eyes. Demons.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She turned to run.
Pain exploded as claws tore into her side, throwing her to the ground. She screamed and rolled, forcing herself up despite the tears blurring her vision. She raised her hands and spoke a spell.
Light surged forward—weak, unstable—barely staggering one of the demons.
They laughed.
She cast again. And again.
Each spell burned her veins, draining her strength. Without a Guardian, her magic screamed against its limits. A heavy blow knocked her down. Another followed. She tasted blood.
The demons loomed over her, claws raised.
So this is how it ends, she thought. God really didn't answer me.
Then the world went silent.
Not quiet—silent.
A crushing pressure descended, freezing the demons mid-motion. From the darkness behind them, a voice echoed, deep and absolute.
"Kneel."
The word was not shouted. It was law.
Both demons slammed into the ground instantly, their bodies forced flat as if reality itself had turned against them.
Aeris gasped, her heart nearly stopping.
Another voice followed, closer now, colder.
"Die."
The demons vanished.
No fire. No scream.
They were simply erased.
The pressure lifted. The night returned.
Aeris scrambled backward, her back hitting stone, her entire body shaking.
"W-who's there…?" she whispered.
Footsteps emerged from the shadows, slow and measured. A tall figure stepped into the moonlight. Dark markings traced his chest, and two curved horns rose from his head, black as the void. Crimson eyes opened, ancient and amused.
He smiled.
"My name is Noctryn," he said with a soft chuckle. "I am the Demon Lord."
A symbol ignited on Aeris's chest. Stars appeared—more than should have been possible.
Ten.
Her breath caught as the truth settled in.
She had never been alone.
She had been sealed.
And somewhere above, God was watching—afraid.