The sky over the Citadel of Atheros was a swirling vortex of cosmic gold and deep violet, held in place by twelve massive crystalline pillars. Below, the Grand Hall hummed with the collective breath of thousands. It was the Day of Selection—the day the heavens chose their warriors.
Solan Vantex stood in the center of the ritual circle, his modern black boots feeling like an insult to the pristine white marble beneath him. He was a "Summoned One," a ghost from another world brought here to serve a destiny he didn't choose.
"Step forward," the High Priest commanded, his voice vibrating through the very air. "Touch the Altar of the Firmament and let the stars claim you."
One by one, the others stepped up. A girl touched the stone, and a Pisces Orb appeared—a sphere of soft neon pink. Rose vines made of liquid light spiraled up her arms. The crowd cheered. Next, a tall youth claimed the Leo Orb, its golden mane erupting in solar flares that scorched the floor.
Then, it was Solan's turn.
As his fingers brushed the cold surface of the altar, the golden sky above didn't just darken—it died. A suffocating silence fell over the hall. No light descended from the heavens. Instead, Solan's chest burned with a sudden, agonizing heat.
Thump.
A sound like a drum echoed through the hall. From within Solan's own sternum, a sphere began to emerge. It wasn't gold or blue. It was a dead, obsidian orb, blacker than the void between galaxies.
"An empty vessel?" a nobleman sneered. "A dud. He has no constellation. He is a Null-Born!"
The High Priest's face twisted in disgust. "Guards! This is an omen of rot. Remove this 'Silence' and prepare the execution block. Atheros has no room for the starless."
Two silver-clad knights lunged forward, their hands glowing with the power of the stars. But as their fingers touched Solan's shoulders, the obsidian orb in his hand didn't just stay silent.
It shattered.
A high-pitched ring, like a thousand swords breaking at once, filled the room. From the cracks of the black sphere, a liquid-like energy the color of fresh blood and dying stars erupted. It was a violent, pulsing Crimson.
[SYSTEM ALERT: THE 13TH CONSTELLATION HAS AWAKENED] [FORBIDDEN ART ACTIVATED: ASTRAL VOID]
The crimson energy didn't spiral; it crawled. It surged up Solan's arms like a living parasite, searing deep orange and red runes into his skin. The marble floor beneath him cracked as the gravity in the room shifted.
"What is this color?!" the Priest screamed, clutching his staff. "That is not the light of the twelve! That is the color of the Void!"
One knight drew a sword infused with the toxic purple light of the Scorpion. "Die, monster!"
Solan didn't move his feet. His eyes, now swirling with orange embers, focused on the blade. He reached out his right hand, and the crimson liquid solidified into a jagged, broken hilt of black marble.
"Astral Void Style, First Form..." Solan's voice sounded like two voices overlapping—one human, one ancient.
"...Silent Meteor Strike."
There was no sound. Only a flash of blood-red neon.
In a heartbeat, Solan was ten feet behind the knight. He was in a low crouch, his hand gripping an invisible blade made of shimmering, vibrating crimson plasma.
A second later, the knight's purple-infused sword shattered into a million glass-like shards. The knight himself was thrown back by a concussive force, his armor scorched as if hit by a falling star.
Solan stood up, the crimson runes on his face glowing through the dark fringe of his hair. He looked at the Priest, his presence now colder than the abyss.
"You called me starless," Solan said, the broken plasma blade humming in his hand. "I think you're just afraid of the dark."