One year earlier...
Cel's blade trembled as his opponent's sword slammed into his guard, sending shockwaves up his arms. Around him, other clan members moved with fluid grace while his movements remained stiff and mechanical.
"Again," barked Master Kael, the clan's weapons instructor. His weathered face bore the scars of countless battles against the creatures that crawled from the Hollow Realms. "Your stance is too wide, boy. How do you expect to face a rift-creature with footwork like that?"
Cel adjusted his position and raised his sword once more. Sweat dripped from his brown hair, stinging his eyes. Across the courtyard, his older brother Darian flowed through an advanced sword pattern, each strike precise enough to cleave stone. A small crowd had gathered to watch, their eyes bright with admiration.
No one watched Cel.
Born into House Solmar of the Sun Clan - one of the six Great Clans who serve directly under the gods themselves - Cel had inherited a legacy of warriors who had stood for centuries as humanity's first and final defense against the monstrous creatures. Every child of their bloodline was expected to become a hero. Every child was meant to shine.
But some flames burn brighter than others.
"Pathetic." The voice cut through the training ground's clamor like a blade through silk. Cel's father approached, his golden armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. Lord Aldric of House Solmar commanded attention wherever he walked - his presence alone could silence a room. "Fifteen years old and you still fight like a novice."
Cel's grip tightened on his sword hilt. "Father, I've been improving—"
"Improving?" Lord Aldric's laugh was sharp enough to draw blood. "Your brother had mastered the Solar Blade technique by your age. You can barely manage a proper guard stance."
The comparison hit like a physical blow. It always came back to Darian - golden-haired, unmatched talent, blessed by the Sun God, everything their father had ever wanted in an heir. Cel's shoulders sagged despite his efforts to stand tall.
"I arranged my marriage for strength," Lord Aldric continued, his voice low enough that only Cel could hear. "Nerida's Ocean God bloodline, combined with our solar heritage - I expected children who would reshape this clan's future." His dark eyes fixed on Cel with cold calculation. "Instead, I got you."
The words settled in Cel's chest like stones. Around them, training continued - steel rang against steel, voices shouted in exertion, feet pounded against packed earth. But for Cel, the world had narrowed to just his father's disappointed gaze.
"The Divine Calling approaches," Lord Aldric said. "Perhaps divine intervention can salvage what breeding could not." He turned away, his cloak billowing behind him. "Pray the gods see something in you that I cannot."
That evening, Cel sat alone on the clan's highest tower, watching the sun set over the training grounds below. The stone was cold against his back, but he welcomed the discomfort - it matched the ache in his chest.
"Still brooding up here?"
Cel turned to find his younger sister climbing onto the roof. Lyra was only thirteen, but she moved with a confidence that belied her years.
"I'm not brooding," Cel said. "I'm... contemplating."
"Same thing." Lyra settled beside him, her legs dangling over the tower's edge. "Father was particularly brutal today, even for him."
"He's not wrong, though." Cel picked up a loose stone and hurled it into the courtyard far below. "Darian was invited to train with the Royal Guard last year. Master Kael calls him a prodigy. Look at me - I can barely keep up in basic training."
"Darian's not the only child in this family," Lyra said quietly. "And the Sun God isn't the only deity who might choose you."
Cel glanced at her. Their mother's bloodline carried the Ocean God's blessing - deep, patient power that flowed like tide and current.
"Three days," Cel murmured. "Three days until my fifteenth birthday."
"Three days until everything changes," Lyra corrected. "For better or worse."
The night of Cel's fifteenth birthday arrived with unusual stillness. Cel lay sprawled across his bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep felt impossible, but it was necessary - the Divine Calling could only come in slumber, when the barriers between mortal minds and divine will grew thin.
When unconsciousness finally claimed him, Cel found himself standing on an endless expanse of ice.
The frozen sea stretched to every horizon, its surface so perfectly smooth it seemed like glass. Above, the night sky yawned black and infinite, unmarked by clouds or stars. But the moon… the moon was impossible to ignore. It hung low and vast, silver light spilling across the ice like liquid mercury.
Cel's breath misted in the frigid air. This wasn't the blazing solar landscape he'd expected, nor the churning oceanic depths of his mother's heritage. This was something else entirely - alien, beautiful, and utterly quiet.
He took a step forward, and his footstep echoed across the frozen expanse like a bell tolling in an empty cathedral. The ice beneath his feet was clear as crystal, and through its depths, he could see shapes moving - vast and graceful forms that defied description.
The moon's light grew brighter, and Cel felt something shift within his chest. Not the burning warmth of the sun, nor the flowing strength of the ocean. This was something colder, more patient - like winter itself given consciousness.
But there was no voice, no divine proclamation, no burning symbol branded into his soul as there had been for his brother. Only the ice, the moon, and a silence so profound it seemed to have weight.
The vision began to fade at its edges, silver light bleeding away like water through his fingers. Cel reached out desperately, trying to hold onto the impossible beauty of it, but the ice dissolved beneath his feet and the moon dimmed to nothing.
He gasped awake, the taste of winter air still sharp in his lungs. Dawn light filtered through his window, but something was wrong with the morning warmth - it couldn't quite reach him. When he sat up, his blankets crackled softly. Frost covered the rough wool in delicate, crystalline patterns that caught the early sunlight like scattered diamonds.
'I am not like my brother,' the thought crashed through him with the force of understanding, silver moonlight still burning behind his eyes. 'But I am still chosen!'
The realization blazed through him like wildfire. It didn't matter that it wasn't the Sun God - the divine still marked him for something greater. His father would have to see it now. Would have to acknowledge him.
Cel burst from his chambers, his bare feet slapping against the marble floors as he raced through the sun-drenched corridors. Servants pressed themselves against the walls as he passed, startled by his urgency. The great dining hall's oak doors stood open ahead, golden morning light streaming through tall windows.
"Father!" The word erupted from his throat before he'd even crossed the threshold. "I had the Calling! I've been chosen!"
Every fork froze halfway to waiting mouths. Lord Aldric's knife paused above his breakfast, a thin slice of meat balanced on its edge. Darian's eyebrow arched with lazy interest, though his lips curved into something that might have been amusement. Their mother's teacup rattled against its saucer as she set it down with trembling fingers.
Only Lyra reacted with pure delight, bouncing in her chair. "Tell us everything! What did you see?"
For the first time in years, every eye in the room focused on Cel. He straightened, drawing breath like a man preparing for battle, and began. The words tumbled out - the endless ice, the silver moon hanging like a jewel in the darkness, the profound silence that had wrapped around him like a cloak.
But with each detail, the atmosphere shifted. Darian's smile curdled at the edges. Their mother grew pale, her fingers white-knuckled around the table's edge as she glanced toward her husband. Even Lyra's enthusiasm dimmed, confusion creeping across her young features.
Lord Aldric remained perfectly still throughout the telling, his expression carved from granite. Only his eyes moved, narrowing with each word until they resembled the edge of a blade.
"Father?" Cel's voice cracked as the silence stretched. "I know it wasn't the Sun God, but I'm still chosen. I can still—"
"Show me the mark."
The words fell like an executioner's blade. No warmth, no pride, no acknowledgment of the miracle Cel had just described. Only a command that tolerated no defiance.
Cel's excitement withered. His hands moved to the hem of his nightshirt, fingers suddenly clumsy as if the cold from his dream had followed him into the waking world. The fabric stuck to his shoulders with nervous sweat before he managed to pull it free.
His mother's sharp intake of breath cut through the morning air. The sound struck him like a physical blow, and he couldn't bring himself to turn toward her.
The mark sprawled between his shoulder blades, as large as a man's outstretched hand. At its heart, a perfect circle held a crescent moon adorned with the phases of its cycle - waxing and waning crescents dotting its curved form like celestial scars. Sharp, angular rays burst outward from the central orb, each point jagged and precise as silver blades. Below the moon-circle, two great horns swept upward and outward, their curved forms resembling those of some ancient, celestial beast.
It was beautiful. It was divine. It was unmistakably the mark of the Moon Goddess.
Lord Aldric's fork clattered against his plate. The sound echoed in the sudden silence like a death knell.
"Get out."
The words were barely a whisper, but they carried the weight of absolute authority. The few servants attending breakfast stopped in their tracks, exchanging uncertain looks. Cel fumbled for his shirt, pulling it back over his head with shaking hands.
"Father, please—"
"GET OUT!"
The roar shook the windows in their frames and the servants scattered like startled birds. Even Darian flinched, his usual composure cracking for just an instant.
Cel stumbled backward, his chest tight with confusion and dawning horror. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was chosen. Marked by divinity itself. Why was his father looking at him like he'd brought plague into their house?
"Aldric," his mother began, her voice quiet and trembling.
"Silence." Lord Aldric's gaze never left his son. "Do you have any idea what you've done? What shame you've brought upon me?"
The words hit like physical blows. Cel shook his head, desperate to understand. "I don't... the Moon Goddess chose me. Isn't that—"
"The Moon Goddess." Lord Aldric spat the name like a curse. "A forgotten deity with no Noble House, no armies, no power worth claiming. Her Chosen Ones are weak. Barely stronger than common soldiers. In centuries, not one of her marked has achieved anything of note."
Each word carved away another piece of Cel's newfound hope. He could see it now in his family's faces - not awe or pride, but disappointment. Shame. His mother wouldn't meet his eyes. Lyra stared at her plate as if it held answers to questions she was afraid to ask.
Only Darian had the courage to watch, though his golden gaze held something that might have been regret.
Silence stretched between them like a blade. When Cel opened his mouth, his father's hand slammed against the table, making every dish jump.
"Fifteen years," Lord Aldric's voice dropped to a whisper more dangerous than any shout. "I've invested fifteen years in you. Training, tutors, resources..." His chair scraped against marble as he stood, movements controlled but predatory. "And this is how you repay me?"
Cel's throat felt dry as sand. "Father, I can still—"
"Still what?" The words cracked like a whip. Lord Aldric rounded the table slowly, each step deliberate. "Still embarrass this House? Still drag our name through the mud at every gathering?" His breathing had grown heavier, shoulders rising and falling with barely contained fury.
"Please, just listen—"
"I am done listening." Something shifted in Lord Aldric's eyes - the last trace of paternal restraint crumbling away. His voice rose with each word, building like a volcano. "Done pretending you might somehow become worthy of our bloodline. Done watching you waste every opportunity I've given you."
He was close now, close enough that Cel could see the vein pulsing in his temple, could feel the rage radiating from him like heat from a forge.
"But this?" Lord Aldric's hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of Cel's nightshirt where it covered the mark. "You stand there with that mark on your back and dare ask for my acceptance? My pride?"
The shirt tore slightly in his grasp.
"You are not my son."
The words hit Cel like a physical blow. He staggered backward, tears welling behind his eyes. "No, father, please… I—"
The fist caught him across the jaw with the force of a war hammer, cutting off his plea mid-word. Cel sprawled across the marble floor, blood filling his mouth. The world tilted sideways, colors bleeding together as his vision swam.
"You dare bear this disgrace?" His father's voice had dropped to something inhuman, a growl that seemed to rise from the depths of his chest. Each footstep echoed like thunder as he advanced. "This pathetic mark of weakness?"
Cel scrambled backward on his hands and knees, leaving crimson droplets on the pristine floor. "Father, please, I didn't—"
A boot drove into his ribs. The impact drove the air from his lungs with a wet crack, barely audible beneath Lyra's sudden scream. White-hot agony exploded through Cel's chest, stealing his breath, doubling him over as he gasped like a drowning man.
"Weak!" Another kick, this one to his shoulder, rolling him across the floor. "Useless!" A third strike caught his back, right over the divine mark. "You were meant to carry the Sun God's blessing!"
Through the haze of pain, Cel caught glimpses of his family. Lyra had buried her face in their mother's robes, her small body shaking with sobs. Their mother stood rigid as stone, one arm wrapped protectively around Lyra while her free hand pressed against her mouth. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she might as well have been carved from marble for all the help she offered.
Darian remained in the doorway, his golden features pale. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, jaw working as if he might speak, might act. But he stayed frozen, the perfect son unwilling to defy their father's wrath.
'Why won't anyone help me?' The thought crashed through his mind between waves of agony. 'Mom... it hurts… it hurts… it hurts…!'
But she wouldn't meet his eyes.
Lord Aldric hauled him upright by his hair, only to slam him against the wall hard enough to crack the stone. Cel's vision exploded into stars, blood staining his nightshirt crimson.
"I will not have a failure like you destroy everything I've built!" His father's spittle flecked Cel's face as he snarled. "Do you understand what you've cost me? What alliances will crumble because of your weakness?"
Before Cel could answer - before he could even draw breath - his father spun him around, pressing his face against the cold wall. Fingernails raked across his back as Lord Aldric tore away the bloodied nightshirt.
The divine mark lay exposed, silver light pulsing weakly beneath the torn skin.
"Please..." Cel's voice came out as barely a whisper. "Please, no..."
But his father's fingers were already digging into the flesh around the mark, nails carving furrows as he tried to tear away the divine blessing itself. As if he could rip the moon from Cel's body and cast it aside like an unwanted tumor.
The scream that tore from Cel's throat was inhuman - raw, broken, and endless. It echoed off the dining hall's vaulted ceiling, seeming to shake the very foundations of their home. His body convulsed against the wall as fingernails gouged deeper, blood flowing in streams down his spine.
Still, no one moved. Darian turned away entirely, unable to watch. Their mother pressed Lyra's face deeper into her robes, muffling the child's sobs while her own tears fell like rain.
'Help!' The word was barely a thought, lost in the screaming. But his mother wasn't moving. None of them were. 'Why... why won't...'
The pain became everything - a white-hot pain that burned away thought, breath, and hope. His own screams grew distant, as if coming from someone else entirely. His legs gave out, but his father's grip kept him pinned against the bloodstained wall.
Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision, merciful and complete. The last thing Cel saw before consciousness fled was his mother's frozen face, tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched but did nothing.
Then, oblivion claimed him.