Aeg's body flashed white as spirit light flared across his frame. Energy surged outward, coiling from his palms as a serpentine mist of silver-white vapor—his soul trait taking visible form.
He clicked his tongue. "What a pain. I'm not even the fire-support type."
Calamon shrugged. "Me neither. I'm back-line support."
Rod saw his chance. "Let me do it."
They both looked at him. Calamon gave a brief nod and slapped a palm against Rod's shoulder. A cool surge of spirit energy coursed through his veins.
"Go on, try it."
Rod grinned and raised the Raven.
A wave of spirit energy, stronger than anything before, poured into the weapon's resonator. The solar stone, soul crystal, jadeite, and gold ring flared in sequence—absorbing and compressing power toward the spirit chamber.
When the pressure reached threshold, the chamber converted the flow into a stasis charge, injecting it into the true-silver round, igniting the spiritual nitrate at the tail.
Bang!
The explosion cracked the air. A beam of white fire streaked out, dragging a luminous line through the darkness as it punched through three shadow hounds and detonated amid the pack.
The air blossomed with black bone dust laced with silver powder. The blast shredded twenty more hounds.
Aeg blinked open his spirit sight. "That's a third-tier surge. Not bad."
"Good work!" Raeslin shouted over the din. "Again! Just don't shoot me this time!"
Rod barely heard them. Dozens of thin, black threads streamed from the corpses into him. The words [Dust-like Soul +51] rippled across his vision. His pulse thundered in his ears—pure joy.
The dog swarm faltered for a moment, but Raeslin dove back in, his blade and shield flashing, shoulders slamming, steel needles bursting outward as he drew their aggro again.
Rod charged another shot. Without Calamon's boost, the build time stretched from four to seven seconds—but the power held steady.
Another thunderclap. Another blinding flare.
The second blast cleared an entire section of the street, leaving nothing but twitching shadows.
Thirty more threads. Fifty new souls. His heart raced.
The exchange rate was more than worth it. By his own calculations, ninety Dust Souls could raise a star's strength from one to four—and a level-four brightness could last him roughly three days.
If each round netted twenty kills, he could stockpile a thousand souls easily.
Of course, the brighter a star burned, the faster it drained. Growth slowed, decay sped up. He'd have to ration carefully until he found a way to stabilize his Blue Star into a true eternal flame.
He fired twice more—two more explosions, fifty souls gained—and soon the street was clear. Raeslin finished the stragglers with clean strikes; Aeg's mist lanced through the last of them.
The air stilled. The night went quiet.
Calamon stepped forward, releasing a wave of blue light that wrapped around Raeslin like water. He clapped the warrior's shoulder, restoring a portion of his spent energy. Raeslin opened his mouth to complain, then shut it again, resigned.
"Let's move," he sighed. "It's my curse for being born a Counter-Barrier."
Rod tilted his head. "What does that do?"
Calamon smirked. "Gets him hit."
Raeslin scowled but didn't deny it.
Aeg explained, more professionally:"His trait lets him massively reduce incoming damage. The energy he absorbs builds up, then discharges as steel spikes—so he's a born frontliner. The perfect close-quarters wall."
Raeslin's face eased slightly. "My development's incomplete, though. Only three flame petals awakened so far. My back defense far outstrips my front—so I tend to fight with my back turned. Looks weird, but it works."
Rod recalled Old One-Eye Mohr's lecture. "And after nine petals?"
Aeg grinned. "Then he's a walking fortress. Every legion would kill to have him. Every squad would worship him. Every Guardian would invite him to their district."
Calamon drawled, "And not just that. He'd have a mansion in Upper City, a personal med team, a mind healer, and a queue of girls calling him a hero. His bed would never be cold again."
Raeslin laughed. "Save the dream talk for when I'm asleep."
They all laughed together.
Calamon clapped Rod on the shoulder. "Still, Spiritfire's the better path—focus on one flame, one direction. Us Starfire types? We have to keep igniting new seeds. It's hell."
Rod nodded, feeling that truth deep in his bones. Ever since he'd lit his second star, it had brought him nothing but complications.
He wasn't a standard Starfire, but the struggle felt the same.
Too many unknowns in the Dream. Too many locks, too few keys.
That night, the fights came nonstop. Every street birthed swarms of black fog creatures—dogs, rats, twisted insects by the hundreds. Wherever they appeared, the world dimmed; spirit lanterns on the houses flickered weakly, pressed down by the gloom.
Raeslin explained, "Dim Moon Night. When the moon fades, darkness swells and light weakens. Monsters multiply. Fire wanes."
It was an omen—a whisper of disaster.Outside the capital, such nights were deadly.Within the holy fire's domain, they were merely exhausting.
The only problem: everyone had to work overtime clearing the haze.
Two hours passed. The team was drained—spirit fatigue setting in, minds heavy, souls aching.
Except for Rod.
He had fired thirty heavy rounds, yet felt no exhaustion. Energy flowed endlessly. His mind stayed sharp, his Soul Eye still open, scanning every shadow.
The others stared at him in disbelief.
Raeslin let out a whistle. "Rod, your stamina's insane. No wonder the Academy tagged you special class."
Aeg nodded. "Yeah, man. The City Defense Corps and the Investigation Legion love the ones who can last. You'll be an Upper City regular. Maybe even the King's Quarter."
Calamon groaned. "They say people with strong spirit endurance are… uh… strong elsewhere too—ahh, screw this! Unfair!"
Rod barely heard them. He could feel the truth pulsing in his chest—this wasn't raw talent. It was his Blue Star, Frost Azure, manifesting its power:
[Spirit Revival].
His first real taste of the star's might.And it was terrifyingly strong.
He glanced inward at his soul altar—seven hundred bright motes circling the blue star—and felt, for the first time, genuine confidence.
I'll win that Goldsworth Star medal.I'll uncover the truth.I'll build my power and survive.
No one can stop me now.
"Front!" he shouted suddenly.
Through his overcharged spirit vision, he saw it—at a distant plaza, the black fog ruptured like a torn veil, pouring down in torrents, dragging with it countless shifting shadows.
"New threat incoming!"