Astra sat alone in his study as a warm twilight breeze drifted through the open window. Duskfall was awash in a dark pink glow, the strange hue of the city's artificial dusk casting long ribbons of color across the spires and bridges below. The room smelled faintly of old parchment and night-flowers, the steady thrum of mana lamps blending with the distant murmur of the nocturnal streets.
Before him, a cluster of shimmering text panels floated in the air mana-manifested, crisp, and fluid. His Mage Coin pulsed with a soft blue sheen as it synced with the mana-net, tethering his thoughts into the archive interface. Ancient records unfolded one after another, entire libraries compressed into drifting panes of light.
He exhaled slowly.
"It's time to finally understand what I've stumbled into."
He leaned back in his chair, watching the texts turn themselves with soft shimmers. He had always assumed he possessed a respectable grasp of the world's workings, how nobility maneuvered, how Saints acted, how Gods influenced their chosen. A comfortable arrogance he had been violently disabused of.
Reality, he had learned, was crueler, stranger, and vastly deeper than his youthful assumptions.
What he had encountered in recent weeks had made it painfully clear how shallow his old understanding truly was. High Saints whose words bent the laws of mana. Dukes who carried power on par with ancient beasts. High Kings who commanded bloodlines intertwined with primordial forces. Demons lurking behind shadows, angels whose footsteps remade the air, devils who smiled as they threaded curses through souls. Even the faint echoes of gods themselves, flickering in the corners of his destiny.
He had once thought he understood such beings, at least in theory the way a person can understand that realms were governed by universal laws. But confronting them in person was like stepping from a shallow pool into an ocean without a bottom.
Astra exhaled slowly. It was maddening, realizing how little he actually knew.
Angels and devils weren't just beings of legend they hovered a breath away from true godhood. Their power reshaped cities, kingdoms, destinies. Most mortals would consider it a blessing to glimpse one from a distance.
Astra had met one face-to-face… and gained the attention of another.
And that wasn't even counting the churches plural now scrambling to either guide him, bind him, or kill him for their own ascent into the divine hierarchy. Nor the sacred realm whispering in his soul. Nor the fact that House Shadow teetered on rebellion, while three royal houses circled him like patient beasts two of them blood enemies, the other an opportunistic hawk just waiting, all of them dangerous.
Nor the inconvenient truth that he had just finished conversing with a genuine devil, one whose blessing was as much a curse as it was a miracle. A being so corruptive and so powerful that even angels treaded lightly around him.
Astra ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath that was equal parts amusement and despair.
"Wonderful. Truly wonderful," he murmured to the empty room.
The floating interfaces flickered, responding to his irritation, but he ignored them. He reached for another archive—House Night's sealed texts, the ones only princes and heirs had access to. Manuscripts detailing ancient wars, god-eclipsed eras, angelic descent, the first devils, and the rise and fall of sacred realms. The fun stuff, granted a lot was sealed behind rank restrictions.
If he was going to survive if he was going to win he needed to know what the royal families understood… and what the rest of the world didn't.
He straightened in his chair, eyes narrowing as new passages bloomed before him in script older than empires.
"Alright," he murmured. "Let's see what you've been hiding."
The study grew quieter, the soft hum of mana deepening into a solemn, thoughtful silence as Astra plunged into the forgotten truths of the world. The twilight outside darkened to full night, yet the room only grew brighter with each revelation unfolding before him.
And slowly, imperceptibly, a new resolve settled in his chest—sharp, steady, impossible to shake.
Hours slipped by as Astra delved deeper into the archives of Shadowkeep, the dim violet lanterns casting soft halos across the ink and parchment. He moved from one tome to the next, tracing the lineage of House Night through its angels, saints, and mortal paragons—at least, the records a mere Rank One was permitted to see. Yet every name he read, every forgotten tale he unearthed, only sharpened the pounding question in his mind: how did one truly ascend to Rank Two?
With a frustrated breath he pushed aside a brittle genealogy scroll and turned instead to ascension manuals and treatises on the Rituals of Night. Most were disappointingly mundane. Refining one's Star Core, confronting one's own mana, shaping the inner world… all things he had already begun. Nothing new. Nothing useful. Nothing that solved the growing pressure of time.
But then, buried beneath ritual diagrams and commentary, he found something that made him sit straighter: a sealed record on the rarity of Star Magic.
Star Magic… almost mythic in its scarcity. Even when House Night stood at the height of its influence, with thousands bearing the Night God's mark, only a few hundred ever awakened the stars themselves. The rest, even the seasoned mages who had walked their Paths, wielded Darkness, Shadow, Light, or—on rare occasions—Mass. But Star Magic? That was a heritage so exalted it bordered on divine privilege.
And it was said those who wielded it carried power beyond measure.
He read on, absorbing every line. Star Magic had no fixed form. It was shaped by imagination, by the mage, by sheer will. It could channel the destructive wrath of celestial fire—heat, fusion, radiation, all tempered for mortal hands. It could divine truths, navigate paths seen and unseen, fold distance itself. Wherever the stars shone, a Star Mage could reach.
Specializations branched endlessly. Some mastered teleportation. Others charted the heavens as if the cosmos whispered in their ear. Geniuses, rare prodigies commanded every aspect of its potential. It was a discipline built on innovation, on intuition, on a talent that could not be taught.
And then Astra found something even stranger.
Star Mages almost never had major dual affinities.
But he did.
Shadow and Star. A pairing so rare the records listed only six such mages in the entire history of House Night. Astra was the seventh. And among those six, only one had ever ascended all the way to Angelhood, so many ages ago the ink describing him had nearly faded to dust.
Star and Light affinities appeared often two halves of a celestial whole, Star and Mass was another less rare but just as powerful affinity. But Star and Shadow? That was something more profound. More sacred.
It was said to be the sign of a lover's blessing.
The Night God, in ancient myths, was enamored with the Shadow itself. Star and Shadow appearing in the same soul was interpreted as proof that the god's eyes had fallen upon the mage with affection, perhaps even favor.
Astra let out a slow, sharp breath as the pieces finally aligned.
"So that's what I am," he murmured. "A rarity, a miracle… and no one ever told me."
In House Night, those born with Star Magic were cultivated, guided, given wealth, teachers, and authority. They were raised to be pillars of the House. Stars within the darkness.
Astra huffed a bitter laugh, one that stirred the dust motes drifting through the library air.
"I could've been a pampered prince," he muttered. "Lavish halls, servants, all of it handed to me. But instead… I got the filth of the outskirts. A chaotic mess of a childhood." Strangely enough Astra was smiling, Even though his life was chaotic and hard, he had made the most of it as he could and even excelled where most rot.
He shook his head, the humor fading to a dull ache. He turned the pages again, uncovering records of certain spell usages and profound settings as well as rarer forms of star magic, such as celestial forging, and even emotional methods as well as metallic summonings. Some really niche references he had not really even came near being able to use.
Astra closed the book with a soft thud.
"That's enough. I'm done for today."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the weight of everything he'd learned pressing against his skull.
He needed rest. Velora would be expecting him soon, and he couldn't afford to stumble into training exhausted not with the tournament looming, not with the shadows of his past and future stretching toward him in equal measure.
He rose, exhaled, and let the lanterns fade behind him as he stepped out of the archives.
....
Astra moved through the dim corridors of the estate, his stride measured, almost silent. The torches along the stone walls guttered and hissed, their flames drawing long, restless shadows that stretched and curled around him like living things. Rest had soothed his body, but not the storm of thoughts left behind by the archives. No sense dwelling on any of it now. Training awaited.
The underground hall opened before him like a cavern carved from obsidian broad, cold, and echoing with the faint hum of mana wards buried deep in the walls. And there, leaning against a pillar as if he owned every square inch of the place, stood Prince Vesperion.
Vesperion's arms were crossed, his posture relaxed but vigilant. His dark eyes swept over Astra with the sharp, evaluative look of someone used to reading people like open books.
"Feeling better, princess?" Vesperion drawled. The smirk tugging at his lips suggested teasing, but there was a glint underneath something like concern attempting and failing to disguise itself.
Astra rolled his shoulders. "Yeah. A little beauty sleep helped."
Vesperion studied him for a heartbeat longer before giving a loose shrug. "Good. Would've been tragic if you just crumpled mid-spar."
Astra snorted. "Please. I'd sooner bite my own tongue."
Before Vesperion could answer, a cold presence settled over the hall like frost creeping across stone.
Velora.
She stood at the far end, already securing dark wraps around her knuckles. Her raven black hair was pulled into a tight braid, every strand disciplined, every movement methodical. Where Vesperion radiated easy confidence, Velora was carved from silence and steel focused, distant, unreadable.
"You're late," she said, her tone flat as a winter blade.
Astra arched a brow. "Only by a minute."
"A minute wasted is an advantage lost." Velora pulled her last wrap taut. "Are you ready, or do you need another excuse to delay what's coming?"
Astra let out a low exhale and stepped onto the polished stone of the sparring ring. "Yeah, yeah. Gods, you're boring."
Velora didn't react, stepping forward with the smooth, lethal grace of a panther. "No mana. Hand-to-hand. Your footwork is still an eyesore."
Astra cracked his neck. "Oh? Does that mean you're finally admitting I have talent?"
"No," Velora replied without blinking. "But your flaws are irritating to watch."
Vesperion laughed from the sidelines. "Oh, this is going to be good."
Astra ignored him, setting his stance, feeling the familiar coil of anticipation tighten in his muscles. Velora mirrored him, their eyes locking. The air between them sharpened an unspoken agreement, a promise of pain and improvement.
"Ready?" Velora asked.
Astra smirked. "Always."
She moved first.
Astra reacted on instinct. Among all forms of combat, pure hand-to-hand was where he felt the most alive. No magic. No tricks. Just bodies, breath, and the raw, honest language of movement. He loved the discipline of it how complex techniques disguised themselves as simple motions, how every strike, every step, every feint became a kind of poetry.
Two beings, no weapons. Nothing but their skill determining who stood and who fell.
But when mana entered the equation, the purity faded. Movements blurred, fundamentals were twisted by supernatural force, and the true artistry became… muddied. Lost in translation.
That, of course, was precisely why Velora was beating the arrogance out of him today.
And totally not because Astra had been insufferably cocky for the past week.
Obviously.
For all her small stature, Velora moved with alarming speed a blur of compact, lethal precision. She was on Astra in an instant, her fists stitching together a chain of strikes so clean it felt like she was sparring with air rather than a living opponent.
Astra slipped back, dodging by instinct more than technique, but even that didn't earn him a shred of satisfaction. Velora wasn't even warmed up. Her expression didn't shift. Her breathing didn't change.
She hadn't begun trying.
Astra barely had time to reset his stance before she closed the distance in a single, predatory step. Her jab flashed toward his face, fast enough to force a reaction—yet it was a lie. The real attack scythed low. A sweeping kick tore toward his lead leg.
Astra twisted, narrowly avoiding the hit. He felt the wind of her foot brush past his calf.
But Velora was already moving.
A jab flowed into a cross, which flowed into a pivot so sharp it cut the air. Her elbow sliced toward his ribs like a falling guillotine.
Astra ducked, breath hissing through his teeth, and surged forward. His hands shot out, aiming to lock her in a clinch an area he excelled in. But Velora saw him in that split second the way a master locksmith sees an amateur fumbling with a key.
She seized his wrist, twisted sharply, and dragged him into her momentum.
Her hips rotated.
And Astra felt the world tilt.
He had just enough awareness to tuck into the throw, rolling with the momentum instead of being hammered into the stone like she intended. He hit the ground light ready to spring only to find a knee crashing down onto his forearm.
Pinned.
The pressure was immediate and suffocating. Astra growled under his breath, bridging hard, twisting his hips in a practiced escape. Velora adjusted fluidly, riding the movement like water
But Astra slipped out anyway, twisting free and rolling to his feet.
He exhaled sharply, the burn in his muscles grounding him. He barely regained his stance before Velora's leg spun through the air in a perfect roundhouse. He blocked with his forearm bone rattling from the impact.
She was relentless. Efficient. A storm contained inside a single, disciplined body.
"You're still too slow," she murmured.
Astra's breath came ragged, but his eyes burned. "Or maybe you just don't give people time to think."
Velora's face remained a perfect mask. She simply lifted her hands, stance flawless.
"Again."
Astra wiped sweat from his brow, grinning despite the ache flaring across his ribs. "Yeah, yeah."
He lunged forward.
And she beat him down again.
Vesper, meanwhile, was half-dead from laughter. Every time Astra got slammed, choked, or thrown, Vesper only laughed harder, curled up on the mats like he was witnessing the greatest comedy of the century.
By the end of it, Astra lay sprawled on the floor, drenched in sweat, his limbs barely functioning.
Velora stood over him, barely winded. "You lasted longer this time," she remarked, as if that was some great achievement.
Vesper, wiping away his last tears of laughter, grinned down at Astra. "Thats what she said! Damn Im good...Anyways you good, champ?"
Astra looked like he wanted to choke the life out of Vesperion right not but he was exhausted "screw you"
"Take a break, then go spar some swordsmanship with Vesperion."
And just like that, she disappeared, vanishing into the shadows as if she had never been there in the first place.
Astra groaned, still flat on his back, his body screaming in protest. Every joint ached, his muscles throbbed, and he was fairly certain Velora had thrown him hard enough to leave an imprint of his soul on the mat.
Vesper loomed over him, grinning. "So… ready to get your ass kicked again?"
Astra slowly sat up, cracking his neck. His exhaustion was real, but so was his pride.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "Just give me a second to remember why I put myself through this hell."
Vesper clapped him on the back, nearly sending him face-first into the mat. "Because deep down, you love it."
Astra shot him a glare, but despite himself, he smirked. With a deep breath, he pushed himself up. His body ached, but the fire in his eyes remained.
...
Astra found himself once again standing in front of Vesper, this time with a sword in hand.
No mana, no tricks just steel and skill.
Vesper rolled his shoulders, lazily twirling his blade. "Alright, let's see what you've got. Just pure technique."
Astra smirked, bringing his blade up. "Try not to cry when I land a hit."
Vesper barked out a laugh. "Oh, I needed that." Then he moved.
Astra barely saw the strike before it crashed into his guard. His wrists screamed as he barely deflected the blow, his blade rattling like a tuning fork. Vesper wasn't just strong he was precise.
Astra shuffled back, realigning his stance. Another attack. Another clash. Another struggle just to keep his sword in his hands.
Vesper's strikes were relentless, flowing between cuts and thrusts so smoothly Astra felt like he was drowning in steel. Each swing funneled him exactly where Vesper wanted, like he was being led into a trap he couldn't even see.
And yet something clicked.
At first, Astra was just reacting, barely surviving. But then, he started to see.
It was as if time slowed down, he saw vesper covered in many threads
His mind sharpened. Every movement, every slight shift in Vesper's stance, every tiny flex of his grip it all started piecing itself together. His curse burned within him, dissecting Vesper's style, breaking it down to its core components. like a intricate spiderweb
His footwork. Controlled aggression, stepping into attacks rather than away, always claiming space.
His tempo. Quick strikes, then a sudden change of rhythm, a pause to bait a reaction before punishing it.
His blade control. Subtle rotations in the wrist, redirecting force, making every movement effortless yet powerful.
Astra's body moved on instinct. He adjusted. Then adjusted again.
At first, he was just blocking.
Then, he was deflecting.
Then, he was redirecting.
Vesper swung Astra slipped just out of range.
Vesper feinted Astra didn't bite.
Vesper stepped in to break his guard Astra twisted, guiding the pressure away, countering with a sudden thrust.
Clang! The tip of Astra's sword grazed Vesper's side.
Vesper stopped. Blinking.
"What the actual fuck, Astra?" His voice was genuine disbelief. "How did you just improve that much in a span of hours?"
Astra exhaled, rolling his wrists as if testing a new weapon except the weapon was his own skill.
"My innate genius" He snorted.
His mage coin shined as he felt saw his swordsmanship evolve and progress rapidly.
[Basic Swordsmanship I] >[Intermediate Swordsmanship] Progress 3/7
[Intermediate Hand to hand combat [3/7] > [5/7]
Astras eyes widened. He had learned that much from a single sparring session with his blessing! was this a joke?