Astrael couldn't help but gawk as the Sacred Sanctum loomed into view, a monstrous monument of stone and arrogance.
It wasn't just a building it was a flex, a giant middle finger carved from marble and hubris aimed squarely at anyone who dared think they mattered outside its glittering walls.
Towers twisted skyward like petrified lightning bolts, so tall they seemed to be taunting the clouds. The main hall sprawled out wide enough to house a dragon, his hoard, and still have room left over for a truly excessive buffet.
Stepping inside was like walking into the belly of a gilded beast. The air buzzed with sourceless light, bathing everything in an eerie, golden glow that made the hairs on Astrael's neck prickle. It felt alive, this place, its ancient stone whispering coldly in his bones ' You don't belong here, gutter rat..
He shuffled through the massive arched doors, his silver boots scuffing the polished marble floor that gleamed like it had been personally licked clean by a regiment of overly enthusiastic servants.
Around him, the cavernous space hummed with the grating symphony of nobility princes preening like iridescent peacocks, princesses tittering behind silk fans wielded like shields, and young heirs radiating smugness so thick you could choke on it.
Astrael's stomach did a complicated gymnastic routine, but he squared his shoulders, plastered on his best 'I-couldn't-care-less-if-I-tried' grin, and scanned the glittering throng.
Ahead, holding court amidst a gaggle of nobles who looked like they'd been weaned on silver spoons and entitlement, stood Silas Ravenastra.
His grandfather's silver eyes, sharp as freshly honed daggers, glinted under the Sanctum's unnatural light. Astrael sidled up, deftly dodging a portly lord who reeked of roses and regret.
"Hey, Grandfather," Astrael said, aiming for casual nonchalance even as his insides felt like a nest of agitated vipers. "Ready to witness history? Either me ascending to greatness, or providing the most spectacular crash-and-burn this side of the Sky-Scar Canyon. Place your bets?"
Silas turned slowly, his gaze slicing through Astrael's flimsy bravado like parchment. "This isn't a tavern brawl or one of your foolhardy escapades, Astrael," he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly, carrying an undercurrent of steel.
"That orb isn't some carnival trinket. It reveals potential, a spark. But a spark only ignites a fire if you fan it. What matters comes after. Don't squander it." He gestured subtly towards the watching nobles. "Or let them define it."
Astrael swallowed, the weight of Silas's words pressing down like a physical anvil. Fantastic pep talk.
Really stokes the fires of confidence. He forced the smirk wider, a brittle shield. "Right. No monumental screw-ups in front of the entire assembled ego-fest. Got it. Piece of cake."
Silas's eyebrow, a formidable grey ledge, lifted a fraction. A ghost of something that might, in a generous light, resemble amusement flickered in his flinty eyes.
"You've got a mouth on you, boy. Let's hope whatever talent the Orb coughs up is half as sharp." He paused, his gaze lingering for a heartbeat longer than usual. "Or twice as disruptive."
"Counting on it," Astrael shot back, his heart hammering a frantic tattoo against his ribs.
"Wouldn't want to disappoint the family's adoring public." He swept a sardonic glance over the nobles observing them with thinly veiled curiosity and disdain.
Silas merely grunted, turning back to the sycophants, but Astrael caught it a fleeting, almost imperceptible flicker in the old warrior's expression.
Not pride, exactly. More like... grim anticipation. Resigned interest? Astrael exhaled a shaky breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Maybe the old badger isn't entirely carved from grump and granite.
He drifted away into the periphery of the crowd. He spotted Prince holding court near the dais, his dark hair impeccably coiffed, royal blue velvet clinging to a frame already radiating an aura of practiced arrogance. The prince's eyes, however, were locked with unnerving intensity on a figure standing apart near a towering obsidian pillar.
Astrael's gaze followed. "Ah."
She stood alone, an island of stillness in the sea of gaudy motion. Hair like freshly fallen snow cascaded down her back, catching the Sanctum's light and seeming to glow with its own inner frost. Her face was sculpted perfection high cheekbones, porcelain skin, lips a pale, unsmiling line.
But it was her eyes that arrested him, pale, glacial blue, scanning the hall with an indifference so absolute it felt like a physical chill. She might as well have been carved from ice. Typical young master bait, Astrael thought, a cynical smirk twisting his lips. The untouchable jade beauty. Bet she's got a queue of suitors too terrified to even breathe in her direction.
Probably awakens something disgustingly golden and perfect.
"Whoops! Hey, watch it!" a bright, slightly breathless voice chirped as someone bumped solidly into his shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance.
He steadied himself, turning to see a girl with bouncing curls the colour of summer sky and eyes wide with cheerful apology.
Aerial Duskharrow, if he recalled the whispered introductions correctly.
"Sorry!" she laughed, the sound surprisingly genuine amidst the stifling formality. "This crowd is absolute madness! Like trying to herd hyperactive moon-mice!"
"More like a coop of prize-winning, overfed roosters," Astrael quipped, dusting imaginary lint off his worn tunic. "All clucking over who gets the shiniest pebble."
She giggled again, a cascade of wind chimes. "You're funny! I like you. Nervous?"
"Me? Nah," Astrael lied smoothly. "Just enjoying the spectacle. You?"
"Terrified!" she confessed with another bright laugh. "But excited! What do you reckon you'll get? I'm hoping for something musical! Imagine charming a whole crowd with a single note!"
Her eyes sparkled with genuine enthusiasm.
"Musical, huh?" Astrael tilted his head, playing along. "Could be useful. Serenade your enemies into submission. Or put the nobility to sleep during their endless speeches."
"Exactly!" Aerial beamed. "Though mostly I just love to sing. What about you? Hoping for fire? Lightning? Something dramatic?"
"Honestly?" Astrael shrugged, a flicker of genuine uncertainty breaking through. "No clue. Something that doesn't involve mucking out stables would be a start. Maybe... something unexpected?"
"Well, whatever it is, I bet it'll be brilliant!" Aerial declared with startling confidence. "You've got that... sparky look about you."
"Sparky? Is that a technical term?" Astrael raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself.
"The best kind!" She winked. "Good luck, okay? Don't let the stuffy robes intimidate you!" With another cheerful wave, she bounced off towards a group of similarly bright-eyed peers.
Astrael shook his head, a reluctant smile touching his lips. Whirlwind. A cheerful, slightly chaotic whirlwind. Her brief presence had, strangely, eased some of the coiled tension in his shoulders.
A resonant chime echoed through the Sanctum, silencing the murmuring crowd.
Priest Harman, resplendent in robes of blinding white and cloth-of-gold, ascended the steps of the central dais. Beside him, resting on a pedestal of dark, light-absorbing stone, pulsed the Talent Awakening Orb.
It was deceptively simple, a sphere of flawless crystal the size of a large melon, humming with a low, resonant energy that vibrated in Astrael's teeth.
"We gather under the watchful gaze of the Sanctum," Harman's amplified voice boomed, serene yet commanding, "to witness the unfolding of potential. The path begins today. Let the Awakening commence."
He unrolled a scroll. "First: Xyler von Aerenthal, Kingdom of Aerenthal."
A ripple of anticipation went through the hall. Xyler strode forward, the picture of arrogant confidence. He barely acknowledged Harman, placing his hand possessively on the Orb.
It flared instantly, bathing him in a bright, clear light. Above his head, a single, brilliantly shining Golden Star blazed into existence. A collective murmur of surprise and respect swept the hall. High-Grade Gold was exceptional, placing him near the very top of the known spectrum.
Xyler's smirk faltered slightly, clearly expecting more. His eyes darted immediately towards the ice-maiden, Eira, seeking validation or awe.
Her expression remained utterly unchanged, carved from winter itself. A flicker of irritation tightened Xyler's jaw before he masked it with a regal nod and swaggered back to his father's side.
"Next: Aerial Duskharrow!"
Aerial practically skipped forward, her earlier nerves seemingly vanished. She placed her hand on the Orb with a bright smile. T
he crystal pulsed, then glowed with a warm, vibrant light. Above her head, three shimmering Red Stars materialized. A solid, respectable High grade Red Talent. Polite applause rippled through the nobles.
Aerial beamed, radiating pure joy, and did a little twirl before practically bouncing back towards her beaming mother. As she passed Astrael, she flashed him a triumphant grin and a thumbs-up. "Told you! Sparky!"
"Not bad, Sky-Hair," Astrael called back, returning the grin. "Not bad at all."
Harman consulted his list. "Next: Eira Caeloras."
A profound silence descended, heavier than before. All movement ceased as every eye tracked the white-haired girl's glacial progress towards the pillar.
She moved with an eerie, effortless grace, the air around her seeming to grow colder with each step. Frost visibly formed on the dark stone pedestal as she approached.
She placed her pale hand on the Orb with deliberate delicacy.
The effect was instantaneous and breathtaking.
An arctic wave, silent but palpable, washed outwards. Breath fogged visibly before hundreds of mouths.
The Orb itself seemed to freeze for a split second, then erupted. Not gold, but Gold refined to an incandescent, bone-chilling brilliance.
It wasn't just bright; it was absolute. Above the radiant light, Three Golden Stars blazed with impossible intensity, forming a perfect, icy triangle.
A spectral image shimmered within the glow- a woman of impossible beauty seated upon a throne sculpted from glacial ice, radiating ancient, untouchable power.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Utterly suffocating. Hundreds of faces were frozen masks of disbelief, awe, and not a little fear.
Even Priest Harman stared, his composure shattered, his hand trembling violently where it held the scroll. His mouth worked soundlessly before he managed to rasp, "H-High... High Grade Golden Talent! Three Stars!"
Pandemonium.
Shouts, gasps, the scrape of chairs as nobles surged to their feet. It wasn't just a talent; it felt like a divine pronouncement.
Duke Caeloras, standing rigidly near the front, allowed a rare, tight smile to touch his lips as his daughter serenely descended the dais, the unnatural cold receding with her. She returned to her father's side, utterly untouched by the storm of adulation and envy she'd unleashed.
Prince Xyler stood rigid, his earlier silver stars forgotten. His knuckles were white where he clenched his fists, his gaze fixed on Eira with a mixture of raw, possessive hunger and furious ambition. 'Mine,' his expression screamed.
Harman struggled to regain control, raising his hands for quiet as the noise reluctantly subsided into a buzzing hum of excitement.
Every eye now scanned the remaining youths, curiosity warring with the lingering shock of Eira's display. Who could possibly follow that?
"Next: Lorien Thorne," Harman called, his voice still carrying a tremor.
A pale, gangly boy shuffled forward, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. He placed a trembling hand on the Orb. It flickered weakly, barely glowing, before settling on a dim, solitary orange Star. Low-Grade orange.
The silence this time was crushing, thick with awkward pity. A few coughs echoed.
Lorien flinched, his cheeks flaming crimson, and practically ran back to the anonymity of the crowd, shoulders hunched. Ouch, Astrael winced internally.
Then one by onr Priest Harman called everyone, Some got good talent and some started crying.
Harman cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the heavy quiet. He scanned his list, then looked up, his amplified voice slicing through the lingering tension. "And now... our next awakening for this gathering."
He paused, letting the silence stretch, thick and expectant. Every gaze, heavy with curiosity, skepticism, or lingering awe from Eira's display, locked onto Astrael.
He felt them like physical weights.
"Astrael Ravenastra."
His name echoed like a thunderclap in the hushed vastness.
'Showtime.' The thought flashed through his mind, a cocktail of adrenaline, terror, and that stubborn, defiant spark that always got him into trouble.
Hero or zero. Ascendant or ash.
He took a deliberate breath, feeling Silas's intense stare boring into his back, a silent anchor and a crushing weight all at once.
He stepped forward. The crowd parted before him like a living sea, whispers rising like a susurrating tide: "...Ravenastra..." "...disgraced..." "...where's he been..." "...raven hair, odd..." "...after her? Poor sod..."
He kept his head high, shoulders squared, the 'I-don't-care' grin firmly plastered on his face, though it felt brittle now.
The polished floor reflected the Sanctum's eerie light and the blurred shapes of watching faces. The dais seemed to grow larger with each step.
The Orb pulsed gently on its dark pedestal.
He reached the steps. Priest Harman watched him, his expression unreadable, the earlier shock replaced by professional neutrality.
The residual chill from the Orb bit at Astrael's skin even from a few feet away.
"Place your hand upon the Orb, Aspirant Ravenastra," Harman instructed, his voice flat.
Astrael looked down at the crystal sphere. It seemed darker now, holding the memory of divine ice and ancient power.
He could see his own distorted reflection in its depths – raven hair, wide eyes, the forced grin looking more like a grimace.
Doubt, cold and insidious, whispered 'What if it owns you? What if the spark is just... nothing?'
He shoved the thoughts down, deep. Screw it.
He met his own reflection's gaze in the Orb's surface, and for a fleeting second, the grin turned genuine, sharp, and utterly defiant.
"Alright, Sparky," he murmured, so low only he could hear it. "Let's see what you've got for me. Make it interesting."
He raised his hand, fingers slightly trembling despite his best efforts. The entire Sanctum seemed to hold its breath, the silence absolute, pressing in on his ears.
He could hear the frantic thud of his own heart. He saw Silas, rigid and watchful. He saw Aerial,eyes wide with encouragement. He saw Prince Xyler, smirking openly now, anticipating failure.
Astrael Ravenastra slammed his palm down onto the Awakening Orb.
The world didn't just freeze.
It shattered.