Satalus paused. He chose his next words carefully, letting silence stretch just long enough to make their weight felt.
"Godhoods," he said, "represent divine authority. There are only so many in existence. Some are created… others inherited. The difference is crucial."
He lifted a hand, fingers glowing faintly with violet mana.
"Think of an authority as a domain—space, time, death, dreams. If one bears a godhood tied to such a domain, they inherit certain unique powers to wield it. Not just as magic—but to suppress others who do."
He glanced sideways, as if weighing how much to confess.
"If I, as a Rank Five Saint, wield space and gravity, and I inherit a godhood of space—say, from the holy God of Night himself—then I may suppress even a Pinnacle-Tier Angel who uses the same authority. That is the difference. Not just in magic… but in dominion."
Astra narrowed his gaze, absorbing every word.
"There are two major kinds of godhoods," Satalus continued. "Those created through ascension—rituals of becoming an Angel. And those inherited from greater beings, one can inherit them from Angels, Devils, Seraphs, and Sins even the dead gods.."
His voice dropped slightly.
"The most powerful godhoods? Those tied to the dead gods. Their quality is… beyond measure. God goods can also exist in many forms."
Stalalus looked outside "This very kingdom is a godhood left behind by Night himself, it is his dominion hidden away from all, only certain members of the church can enter and even then its only for a limited time, no one has a right to claim this kingdom so far or even mobilize all its latent powers, in fact as it stands you hold the highest authority here based on that crown alone."
Astra nodded, it made sense infact, he did feel as if the place had welcomed him.
Satalus folded his hands as he continued.
"I don't know how many godhoods exist, or what they all do. But from what we've pieced together, the ancient gods possessed seven to nine godhoods each—corresponding to their dominions and names."
Astra remained silent. He didn't offer clarification, but inside he was already cataloging possibilities.
Satalus leaned closer, voice low and reverent.
"I do not know what your godhoods represent exactly, but I can guess. The Cloak of Shadows likely carries authority over secrecy and concealment. It explains why we couldn't track you—even using methods stronger than any available to most factions."
He paused, considering the other.
"The Crown of Stars… I cannot say. It may represent sovereignty, celestial insight, certain domains of fate, command. It could be many things."
Astra gave a faint nod, eyes veiled. He wasn't about to reveal what he did know.
"But I haven't exactly claimed them," he said at last.
Satalus shook his head.
"No. Not yet. You've inherited a fraction of their strength. The godhoods themselves… have a will of their own. They detected your presence, found you worthy, and offered you a sliver of their power. They may even have blessed others."
He clasped his hands tightly.
"That fraction will grow. The stronger you become, the more they offer. At Rank Two you may hold 5%. At Rank Three, perhaps 8%. At Rank Four, 15%. At Rank Five—25%, maybe more."
"Only at Rank Five," he said gravely, "can you truly begin to accommodate them. Only then can you prepare for the weight of Angelhood."
Astra was quiet for a long moment before he asked the question directly:
"Are you preparing to ascend to Angelhood?"
Satalus didn't answer right away.
Then he smiled—darkly.
"I have been prepared for years. But I did not dare attempt it."
He leaned back, the weariness of centuries pressing down on his shoulders.
"If one of us makes that attempt… we risk open war. Shadow supports us in name, yes—but if we grow too strong, if we draw too much light… will they protect us? Truly?"
His eyes narrowed.
"That is why I've waited. Waited and rotted in this silence. I was tired. I am tired."
Then his gaze locked with Astra's.
"Until you came, my prince."
His voice shifted—no longer the voice of a mere archbishop, but a man touched by prophecy.
"You are a sign. A herald of a new age. And I do not speak with blind zeal. You will change many things for us. It is your duty. And it is mine—to rise, to claim the rank of Angel, to take the mantle of Pontiff and become the Lord Protector of this Church."
He bowed low, deeply, reverently.
"You've awoken something in me I thought long dead. For that… I thank you. We the church of Night are under you. I shall notify the remaining archbishops, They will comply."
Astra didn't move. He accepted the words with a nod.
But inwardly?
He was unmoved.
He didn't care for this church. The dead god they worshipped stirred nothing in him. Blind zeal wrapped in dogma was no guiding light. No—what Satalus truly desired wasn't revival. It was power.
He doesn't speak of faith. He speaks of ambition. Of position. Of divine ascent.
And perhaps that was the truest glimpse of all. These churches didn't want to raise their gods from slumber. They wanted to become gods themselves—by claiming what was left behind.
The rituals. The relics. The titles.
Perhaps, Astra thought, some truly do believe. Perhaps there are angels who kneel in honest reverence…
But most?
Most wear masks.
Astra suddenly felt weak—illusory, as if the very thread of his being were unraveling.
He laughed inwardly, I just became a leader of a church as old as night itself, or so Satalus claims, great more political maneuvering.
Satalus stepped forward, his tone shifting to one of quiet finality.
"Let us end here, my prince," he said. "This is a nascent divine realm. The only reason your soul has lasted this long… is due to your godhoods and your vast mana reserves."
He lifted a hand, and between his fingers shimmered a regal coin, dark as the abyss and laced with faint celestial light. A Saint Coin—not one forged by mundane means, but a relic of deeper power. Tiny stars glimmered across its surface, forming constellations that shifted as if alive. Etched in the center were the words:
"Forged in Night. Crowned by Stars."
Without hesitation, Satalus sent a request forward. It shimmered, pulsing once, and connected directly with Astra's mage coin. for future contact.
Then, with a second gesture, Satalus revealed something far rarer. A tiny speck of light hovered between his fingers, no larger than a grain of rice, yet it burned with the quiet intensity of a sun.
"This," he said reverently, "is one of the Divine Artifact Emissaries."
He placed it in Astra's palm. The star pulsed, and instantly, it recognized him.
"It will accompany you," Satalus continued. "It serves as both messenger and key. When you call upon it, it can open a path here—to this divine realm. Should you ever find yourself in danger beyond measure, send a summons through it. I will arrive. Instantly. It is also hidden and cannot be discovered by being below the angelic level. "
The star flickered once, then nestled itself into Astra's shadow—bound.
But Astra could no longer respond. His form grew even more translucent, the edges of his soul warping like heat haze. He couldn't speak. Could barely think. His consciousness was slipping—
"With that said," Satalus whispered, his violet eyes gleaming with quiet conviction,"I shall reach out again soon, my prince. May the stars guide your path..."
He bowed low, regal and composed—even as Astra faded.
—
With a sudden pull, Astra's senses snapped back.
The world reformed around him in a rush of warmth, breath, gravity.
He sat up slowly.
The Church, the Saints, the Houses of Shadow and Night, the inheritance of godhoods, and the question of who—or what—was truly moving the threads from above.
Astra stared into the quiet darkness of the inn, the candlelight barely touching the corners of the room.
There was much to think about.
Too much.
And the stars had only just begun to whisper.
Astra sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the dying candlelight.
His fingers brushed against the divine coin tucked beneath his sleeve. The weight of it—far heavier than gold—reminded him that this wasn't a dream. Not a hallucination. The godhoods. The church. Satalus.
It was all real.
"How the hell am I supposed to navigate this?" he muttered, pressing a hand to his temple."Fake it 'til I make it?"
He scoffed aloud. The words tasted bitter.
The Saint—that towering violet-eyed zealot—saw something divine in him. A prophecy incarnate. A prince. A last heir. A herald of a new age.
But Astra?He couldn't even see himself.
"I'm no prophet," he whispered to the shadows around him."I'm not a messiah. I don't even know what I am."
Yesterday, he was a starving fugitive in an alley. Hunted. Alone.No friends. No home.A stain of a life clinging to nothing but sheer spite.
And now?
"Now I'm a prince with godhoods?" he laughed bitterly. "Cloak of Shadows? Crown of Stars? Come on. This is madness."
He fell silent, the laughter fading into something hollow. Something heavy.
"They don't want me," he finally muttered. "They want what I represent. The bloodline. The godhoods. The myth."
He leaned back against the creaking wood of the inn's wall, staring up at the ceiling as if it held answers. The stillness around him felt hostile now, thick with the gravity of choices he didn't ask for.
He began to think. To plan.
Option One
Hide. Disappear into the undercity. Vanish into Duskfall's shadows.Be hunted down by angels, saints, assassins, inquisitors.Captured. Used. Or just killed."Not a real option," Astra muttered. "My old life's gone. And honestly… good riddance."
Option Two
Seek out House Shadow.Accept their asylum.Be paraded around like a political artifact. Forced into games he barely understands.Triggered wars. Buried in schemes."I'd probably die…" he said with a shrug, a dry grin pulling at his lips."But at least I'd die as a prince."
Option Three
Join Shadow. Let them shelter him, mold him—but on his terms.Ingratiate himself with the Church of Night. Learn its secrets.Use his newfound bloodline like a blade.Climb. Scheme. Devour every ounce of power offered to him.Turn the game around. Rise above them all.And maybe, just maybe… become something more.
"My very own deity…" he whispered. "Why not?"
Astra knew just how naive his thoughts were, how arrogant, but did he really have a choice? He had a stake on two godhoods! He literally couldn't aim for a normal life, he had to aim for the top, the pinnacle, he had a chance, who was he to waste it! He knew of the dangers or so he told himself, he was a mere teenager who had just reached adulthood planning on claiming power from ancient houses, but if anyone could why not be it himself? Go big or go home, expect I have no home Astra laughed. its do or die. He smiled brightly, strongly enough his life had always been do or die, he never has had a normal experience be it his first love to first time wielding mana, everything was always warped or "more" than the average experience.
His gaze fell on the miniature star still pulsing softly in the corner of the room. A piece of divinity, just sitting there like a loyal dog waiting for its master.
"Failure means death," Astra said, staring it down. "But death chasing a dream… that's something else entirely."
He exhaled slowly. His heart beat calmer now—not because he was at peace, but because he had direction.Not certainty.But clarity.
He had already died once in the streets of Duskfall.This… whatever this was…This was his rebirth.
And he would rise like a star wreathed in shadows. Or not at all.
Astra leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the flickering miniature star. It pulsed gently in the gloom of the inn room, like some divine heartbeat echoing in time with his own.
"This is it…" he said aloud, like a confession to the dark.
"The plan. My plan. My ambition."
He took a slow breath, counting the steps off in his mind like scripture.
One – Rise.Not just in strength, but in power. Political. Military. Divine.Become someone the realms would whisper about, not chase like a stray dog.
Two – Live a life worth living.Not the hollow survival he'd known for so long, but real excitement.Adventure. Discovery. Mystery.The kind of life that felt like a story—his story.
Three – Women… and alcohol.He let out a tired laugh.
"Yeah… that's staying on the list."
He wasn't ashamed of it. Not really. Astra had never cared for hidden vaults of long-lost treasure or tyrannical empires built on bones and fire. That was someone else's dream.
No, he preferred the elegance of the long game.Subtle manipulation. Quiet leverage.Making things happen without ever lifting a blade.
Even with women, it was the same. He'd never been the type to throw himself at them—never had the luxury, really. He liked it better when they came to him anyway.That was the trick. Let them think it was their idea. Let them want him.
Astra leaned back into the creaking inn chair, shadows pooling around his boots like ink. The starlight from Satalus's gift cast a soft shimmer against the wall, but his thoughts drifted somewhere else—some when else.
A name he didn't want to say aloud.A face he hadn't forgotten.A young noblewoman with clever eyes and a tongue like a blade sheathed in honey.
She used to whisper truths into his ear between tangled sheets and stolen nights:
One — "Always know your place."Not in the sense of submission—no, she meant it like a chess player knows the board. Know where you stand, what you are… and what you're not. Astra learned that fast.
Two — "Don't let greed consume you.""Not for love, not for power, not for gold."Greed made people sloppy, desperate, and loud.And Astra? He prided himself on being quiet, precise, and detached.
Three — "Always smile."She used to say it like it was gospel."There hasn't been a room I couldn't survive just by smiling," she told him once, brushing her hair aside like it was the easiest thing in the world.
That lesson stuck the hardest.There hadn't been a day since he couldn't lie and smile his way out of something.
Even now—divine gifts, ancient bloodlines, saints and angels—he smiled through it all.
But the memory wasn't all sweet.She'd played him in the end.Tossed him aside once he'd served his use, like a coin spent on a meaningless bet.He never saw it coming until it was already done.
Astra sighed and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.
"That's life," he muttered. "You either play or get played."
And he was done being played.
He wasn't that naïve boy anymore. He had a crown now. A cloak. A church calling him Prince. He wasn't even fully mad at her, he couldn't be, she came from a great house while he was a mere vagrant who just happened to be attractive, but thats fate. He was a petty man but an understanding man at that. If he were to rise she would see it and perhaps feel regret.Perhaps she wouldn't. He didn't care.
He stood up, smile already forming.
"Always smile," Astra said to himself, bitter and amused."Even when the world is on fire and chasing after you."
The game was on again. And this time, he wasn't playing to survive.
He was playing to win.
It was all the same game, whether it was war or seduction: influence, not force.
He stood up, brushing the dust from his coat. He could feel his mana swirling quietly under his skin now, like a second heartbeat. The Cloak of Shadows wrapped around his soul, the Crown whispering from beyond the veil.
He grinned.
"Let the others chase temples and titles," Astra said to the empty room."Perhaps I'll take the throne… one whispered word at a time."
He looked at the time and turned to his wardrobe. Inside hung the newly tailored noble attire—dark, elegant, and made to command attention.
Its time Astra sighed, for him to actually begin his plans.
He slipped into a black high-collared tunic, its fabric soft yet structured, trimmed with subtle streaks of gray that caught the low light. A belt of polished obsidian leather cinched at his waist, lined with thin gold inlays—just enough extravagance to remind people he was of high standing, but not enough to scream arrogance. Over it, he draped a dark noble's coat, its long tails embroidered with House Shadow's signature motifs—ethereal wisps and trailing dusk.
His boots, sleek and well-fitted, clicked lightly against the wooden floor as he adjusted his cuffs. He glanced into the mirror.
With his untamed curls now perfectly in place, and his sharp, refined features no longer hidden beneath grime and exhaustion, he barely recognized himself. No longer a street-worn wanderer.
Now, he looked every bit the noble he claimed to be.
He chuckled under his breath, fastening his Regal Coin onto his belt before stepping out into the night-lit streets of Duskfall.
The deeper Astra traveled into the inner city, the more the atmosphere shifted. Gone were the lively, chaotic markets of the bazaar—here, wide marble streets stretched clean beneath glowing streetlamps, lined with estate manors, lavish townhouses, and private lounges filled with music and laughter.
Wealth dripped from the air. The people strolling past wore finery tailored to perfection, their carriages drawn by exotic mana beasts, their conversations laced with subtle boasts and political maneuvering.
Astra took his time, walking at an unhurried pace. To any noble watching, he was just another young lord enjoying the night's festivities. Attending one of the various balls happening in the noble quarters.
As Astra approached House Dune's estate, the sheer scale of it left him in awe. It wasn't just a noble house—it was a fortress of influence.
The massive estate stood like a smaller castle, its silhouette cutting through the dusky horizon, a symbol of power and prestige in the heart of the Inner City.
The walls were a blend of marble and sandstone, the rich, golden hues of the stone catching the last rays of the setting sun, giving the estate an almost ethereal glow.
The marble shimmered faintly with veins of desert gold, a reflection of House Dune's deep ties to the Saharan realm and its ancient desert heritage.
House Dunes golden banners were hung up, the emblem, a desert dune under a red sun. Simple and Powerful.
The estate's towers rose high above the city, their rounded tops adorned with gleaming spires, reminiscent of the pointed tips of desert cacti.
Between the towers, arches and open courtyards crisscrossed the estate like a labyrinth, adding to the castle-like feel. Wind chimes clinked softly in the breeze, the sound barely audible, but present enough to emphasize the deep sense of calm that clung to the estate.
The grounds surrounding the estate were nothing short of breathtaking. Oasis gardens sprawled out, with shimmering pools of clear water surrounded by lush greenery—palms swayed in the evening wind while the smell of desert flowers drifted through the air.
Despite its central location, the estate seemed like a world apart—an entire ecosystem cultivated to perfection, with various desert trees, vibrant cacti, and clusters of hardy flowering succulents filling the air with a mix of sweet and earthy fragrances.
Paths of smooth stone meandered between flower beds, leading to secluded seating areas where nobles could converse in private, shaded by the larger desert trees.
In the distance, there were sculpted water features that mirrored the gentle ripples of the distant desert dunes, and ivory statues stood tall, carved with delicate desert motifs. The gardens felt almost like an oasis in the middle of the desert, designed to provide a peaceful escape from the constant bustle of Duskfall.
To anyone who knew the true reach of House Dune, it was no surprise that this estate existed on such a scale.
The Royal Stewards of Sahara had never been just a title; their influence extended across realms. This estate was not merely a home—it was a stronghold. A testament to House Dune's undeniable power and wealth.
And as Astra approached its grand gates, it became clear that this was a place where politics, power, and wealth were forged together. The estate wasn't just built to impress—it was built to command respect.
As Astra approached the grand entrance of House Dune's estate, the size of the gathering struck him almost immediately. There were too many people for what Seraphine had described as a "Minor ball."
Nobles and their entourages, politicians, merchants, and various other high-profile individuals milled about, chatting in groups.
He was immediately struck by the sheer luxury of it all—the air was thick with the scent of exotic perfumes, and there was a soft murmur of polite conversation that seemed to echo against the marble floors.
Elegant dresses in every imaginable color shimmered in the soft glow of chandelier light, and men wore finely tailored suits of deep blacks, silvers, and golds, their cloaks flowing behind them like rich tapestries.
Some were adorned with gilded jewelry and family crests that marked their high social standing, while others wore intricate masks to add an air of mystique.
But it wasn't the extravagance of the crowd that made Astra feel the most out of place—it was the way everyone seemed to be staring at him.
He could feel the weight of curiosity from the eyes of several nobles, their gazes lingering a bit longer than normal as he walked through the gates.
Astra's outfit, though dark and regal, felt almost like a sore thumb among the brilliant and over-the-top garments worn by others. His attire, though designed for noble status, lacked the layers of extravagant adornment most others wore. but that was in character with House Shadow.
Even the guards gave him an extra look as he approached, almost as if to confirm his identity, before nodding and allowing him through. Their eye-catching gold-plated armor gleamed under the lamplight as they opened the grand gates, and Astra was let into the estate.
He walked through the large archway and into the banquet hall, where the sheer opulence struck him like a physical blow.
The walls were lined with tapestries, and the ceiling, a towering masterpiece of architecture, seemed to stretch endlessly upward.
Golden chandeliers hung from above, casting a warm, welcoming light, and there were large pillars carved with intricate desert motifs.
The floor beneath his boots was made from polished stone that seemed to glimmer, and the long tables were covered with gilded dishes that sparkled with fine wine, delicacies, and fragrant desserts.
Despite all the grandeur, Astra felt a sense of being lost in the middle of it. Everyone in the room was either talking to someone or sipping from crystal goblets, exuding confidence and purpose. Here, Astra, dressed in his darker, more reserved attire, felt like he didn't quite belong. The hidden tension in the air was palpable—like every person in the room was part of a larger game of maneuvering and social alliances.
He caught a glimpse of Seraphine across the room, effortlessly commanding attention, her beauty and confidence shining among the crowd, and for a moment, he felt like a mere spectator in this elaborate theater of nobility.
As people whispered and glanced at him, he wondered if they could tell he wasn't exactly from this world. The wealth, status, and power in this room were too overwhelming, too suffocating.
Astra felt the uneasy weight of his disguise and the burden of his hidden identity. He had never felt more like an outsider—like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit in. But the moment Seraphine's gaze locked with his, his nerves seemed to ease, at least for a moment.
He walked further into the hall, the sensation of being under a microscope never fading. The eyes of the powerful clung to him as he made his way deeper into the gathering.
The music was delicate, intricate—like spider-silk strung over blades.
Astra stepped into the ballroom beneath House Dune's golden desert banner. The hall pulsed with low laughter and clinking glasses, a sea of fine robes, jeweled turbans, sun-metal veils. Noblemen and high-born mages from across the great houses mingled, trading secrets behind practiced smiles.
And yet, as Astra's gaze swept the hall—
There were no signs of Shadow.
He must have arrived early.
It was… odd. He had received no word from Shadow. No signal, no message. Not even a whisper. Granted, they didn't need to tell him anything—but it was still eerie. A great house, on par with the royals, unable to reach its own target? Not by spell, code, or thought?
His first instinct was paranoia.
They had found him. And decided he wasn't worth the details of they're schemes. Perhaps they were done with him. But that couldn't be right—what if he hadn't found Seraphine? What if he hadn't been invited at all? Then Shadow would have remained unaware. That ruled out deliberate exclusion.
Which led to the second—far more troubling—possibility.
They were wary of him. Perhaps he was a trap set by foes.
Especially now that he wore the Cloak of Shadows—his divine authority, the godhood etched into his soul. It repelled divination. Masked his presence. Erased trails. It made the powerful feel... uneasy. Perhaps they couldn't find him. Or worse—they could, but dared not act blindly.
And then there was the third, most chilling option.
That they could reach him. That they had access. And chose not to.
After all, many had heard of the disturbance in the divine realms. Whispers of an Heir of Night. And who had always stood closest to Night?
Shadow.
Seraphs, Sins, Devils, and Angels alike would be watching Shadow's movements now. If they arrived with someone bearing Astra's presence, it would be a declaration to the world: he belongs to us. A move that could unravel countless schemes. Or weave countless more.
Astra sighed and moved through the crowd like smoke in sunlight, the heat of too many gazes bearing down on him. Lords of House Dawn, with hair like molten gold and eyes glowing like bottled sunfire, stood flanked by House Duskcourtiers—cold-eyed, pale-skinned figures cloaked in moonlight silks. They all noticed him.
None approached.
Their stares were not curious. They were hostile.
It made sense. Shadow had no love for Dawn or Dusk. Dawn and Dusk had no love for Shadow. Infact Shadow and Dawn had always had a major rivalry of sorts, especially after the fall of night. Dawn aimed to eradicate and subject them, and Shadow would simply not falter. It is a feud of endless bloodshed.
Astra turned his head—then saw her.
Princess Seraphine of House Dune.
She stood at the center of the storm, unmoving in a swirl of color and heat. Layers of golden-threaded silk shimmered like starlight on sand, her dark hair crowned with desert sapphires that shimmered like a mirage. She didn't walk—she glided, as if the floor bent to her will. She looked...
Breathtaking.
"Astra," she greeted, voice low and velvety. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your way in the dark."
He offered a shallow bow, formal and unflinching.
"I was told this would be a minor gathering. Judging by the number of knives behind the smiles, I might've misheard."
She laughed, soft and dangerous.
"You're not entirely wrong. But really, can one ever trust a royal invitation to be small?"
"Apparently not," he murmured, his eyes scanning the hall again.
Hers didn't leave him. Eyes like dark sapphires—deep, polished, unreadable.
"I'm surprised," she said. "I expected more... presence from House Shadow. A retinue, at least. But you arrive alone. No markings. No agents. No trace. How curious."
He kept his expression casual.
"I came earlier than expected. I haven't been exactly with my House for... various reasons. They should arrive soon." He let the word linger.
"Ah," she said with faint amusement. "So they sent you as their envoy?"
A flicker of silence stretched too long.
"Something like that," he sighed.
She stepped closer, tone turning coy.
"Interesting. Shadow breaking custom. It would also explain why you're living in a cheap inn." She sighed, as if the very idea offended her sensibilities.
"Does that interest you so much?" he asked, tilting his head, unsurprised she knew his location. He had attracted the attention of a princess—and not just any princess. Her shadow was deeper than it should be. Rank One? Hardly.
"Very much," she said, lips curling. "Someone with your looks? You'd have been noticed earlier, even in Shadow. Yet you appeared out of thin air. In fact... I ran a background check." She sipped her wine, eyes daring him to respond.
Shit. She's thorough. And terrifying. And gods, she knows how to control a conversation. Too bad Im good with my words.
"And what did you find?" he asked, adopting a playful tone to mask the holes in his disguise.
Seraphine sighed wistfully. "Nothing—officially. You're in their records now. Astra of Shadow."He smiled inwardly. Yes. She doesn't know.
But she continued.
"Which is strange. Because there's another Astra. From Duskfall. Jet-black curls. Violet eyes. Wanted for fifty gold standards."She dropped it like a dagger.
Astra paled.
"Heh. Is there?" he muttered. "Well... House Shadow works in mysterious ways." He decided to lean into the mystique. Secret agent. Operative. Whatever worked.
Seraphine laughed. "Relax, Astra of Shadow. Even Dune doesn't pry into Shadow's operatives. Not anymore. But the timing? Now that is funny."
She leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper.
"You know how divine disturbances stir saints and demigods to action? How an Heir of Night emerges, disrupting Duskfall? And then... you appear. Out of thin air." Her smile widened. "Funny how that worked out."
She leaned back, raised her glass.
"Oh, and Shadow's envoy should be here soon. You can thank me later, Astra of Shadow."
She clinked her glass against his.
He accepted it with grace, though he stared at her in disbelief.
Noblewomen are terrifying.
Dawn and Dusk didn't know about him—he was sure of that. But Dune?
They had a file. Already. How?
Think.
The noble circles mirrored the political chessboard. Dawn and Dusk were allies. Dune, however, played neutral. Always hosting. Always balancing.
The only way they'd learn so quickly was through cooperation with Shadow.
Dune must have known that Shadow was planning something delicate here—something divine. So they dug. And Seraphine found him.
In a day.
And yet... she wasn't outing him.
How strange.
He kept his smile sharp.
"It is funny how that worked out, Seraphine. With such attention placed on me by Her Royal Highness, one might get the wrong idea."
She didn't miss a beat.
"You mean the right idea," she purred. "Flattery tastes better laced with poison. In my case... not so subtle."
He chuckled slightly. She's funny.
As Astra's eyes flicked across the banquet hall, he felt the weight of countless presences pressing down on him—subtle, but undeniable.
Even as he tried to center himself, his senses strained beneath the intensity of the gathered nobles—most of them Rank Two or Three: the upper echelons of society. Warriors, politicians, diplomats, and high-ranking officials moved like currents in a golden sea of conversation and soft orchestral music.
In the distance, his gaze locked onto a smaller, quieter cluster. He recognized the unmistakable aura of Rank Fours—their mana rich, stable, authoritative. They conversed in low tones, voices drowned beneath the ambient hum of the room. These were bishops. Demi-gods. Men and women who had served their houses for decades perhaps centuries, their power forged into polished precision, their words as refined as their will.
Their very presence demanded attention. Looking at them was like gazing at mountain ranges—not just for their strength, but for the primal awe they evoked. This was what demi-gods felt like up close.
Astra turned away. He had met with a Saint and Angel, Felt the gazes of deities, The subtle auras around him were felt sure. But they didn't affect him as much, unless of course the demigods wanted him to be affected.
He forced his breath steady, tried to blend back into the crowd, to remember how to stand without trembling, how to walk without shrinking. Mostly due to his anxiety and nervousness.
But the awareness lingered—he wasn't safe. Not truly,He was a rogue prince, a fallen amir, who was wanted by three royal houses for simply existing, and to make matters worse, he had two godhoods and was now constantly being divined about by gods knows who. He pursed his lips.
Then a voice pulled him gently back to the moment.
"You have a staring problem," Seraphine teased.
Astra blinked, surprised. He hadn't even realized how long he'd been drifting.
"I can't help myself," he replied with a small smile. "You're mesmerizing."
She laughed, soft and golden. "You really are smooth."
But the atmosphere shifted again—just slightly, like the change in air pressure before a storm.
A new presence entered the ballroom. A ripple moved through the hall, subtle yet undeniable. The mana was refined, weighty. Rank Four.
The shadows around Astra deepened with joy. Not alarm. Recognition.
He stiffened.
A man strode in—tall, lean, raven-haired, dressed in black with accents of grey and gold. His pale skin gleamed beneath the chandeliers. His steps were confident—no, arrogant. The way he moved told the truth before his aura did: I am the strongest in this room, and I know it.
A bishop. House Shadow. Powerful.
But it was the one beside him that truly unsettled Astra.
A young man.
Just as tall, his beauty almost unnatural—long black hair, sculpted features, eyes dark and deep with the faintest red sheen glowing beneath. Rank One, clearly. But the shadows reacted to him, not the bishop.
Astra's instincts sharpened. Ever since forming his second core and inheriting not one but two godhoods—Star and Shadow—his perception had changed. He could discern details, information as he had connections to literal personifications of those magics. He could discount strength. Potential, it was slightly weird, like information he had always known but never learned.
Just like with the Staff of Stars, a divine relic that far surpassed mortal expectations, he could slightly glimpse behind the veil of suppression of such high level artifacts.So what he saw just now slightly terrified him.
This boy's connection to the shadows was deeper than the bishop's.
Far deeper.
The bishop's eyes flicked toward Astra.
It was not just a glance—it was an assessment. A silent interrogation. Recognition? Uncertainty? He couldn't tell. But Astra held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than he should have.
Then, something unexpected.
The young man—the one cloaked in the adoration of shadows—turned away and approached a group of nobles from House Dawn and Dusk.
The mood soured instantly.
Astra could practically feel the hatred radiating from the nobles as the young man drew near. Their expressions tightened. It was clear: they despised him.
Astra chuckled to himself. What a crazy guy.
Next to him, Seraphine spoke, her voice soft and knowing.
"So... it seems they've arrived. How fitting."
She looked him up and down one last time. "Go enjoy yourself," she said, already turning. "Oh—and find me later."
Astra inclined his head.
As he turned, his intuition sparked again—cold and precise. A deep shadow curled around him like a familiar shroud, and a voice rang in his ears, low and absolute:
"Prince of Night. We have found you."