The lift moved without sound.
Astren stood inside it, shoulders tense, hands clenched tightly at his sides. The walls around him were smooth black metal traced with thin lines of pale light that pulsed slowly, like veins carrying something alive. There were no windows. No reflections. Nothing to ground him.
The glowing band around his wrist hummed faintly.
Astren swallowed.
Each second felt stretched, heavy, as if the lift was not only carrying him upward but pulling him away from the life he had known. His chest felt tight, not from fear alone, but from a strange pressure he couldn't explain—like the air itself was weighing him.
When the lift finally slowed, it didn't stop immediately.
Instead, a deep vibration rolled through the chamber. Astren's ears rang softly. Then, with a muted click, the doors slid open.
Cold air poured in.
Astren stepped forward—and froze.
Before him lay the Ascension Grounds.
Floating platforms of dark stone hovered at different heights, connected by narrow bridges of glowing energy. Tall spires rose in the distance, jagged and ancient, their surfaces carved with symbols that shimmered faintly as though remembering something old. The place felt vast, endless, and alive.
Above it all stretched a sky that did not belong to any world Astren knew.
It was deep violet and black, filled with drifting clouds of light and shadow. Stars burned faintly overhead, arranged in patterns that felt deliberate. Watching.
"This is the Ascension Grounds," an agent said behind him. "Move."
Astren obeyed.
The moment his boot touched the stone platform, a pressure settled into his body. Not painful—but heavy. As if the ground itself was judging him. Measuring him.
Other youths were already gathered there.
Dozens of them.
Some wore finely tailored robes, stitched with glowing runes. Others stood confidently with visible magic circling them—small flames, drifting shards of light, bending air. Laughter and conversation rippled through the group.
Astren stood apart instantly.
Plain clothes. No glow. No presence.
Whispers spread like a disease.
"That's him?"
"He looks weak."
"An orphan?"
"Why is he even here?"
Astren lowered his head.
He had heard worse.
A tall boy with sharp eyes glanced at him and scoffed. "Looks like the Council's standards are dropping."
Astren said nothing.
A sharp metallic sound rang out across the platforms, silencing everything.
From the highest platform stepped a figure clad in layered black robes. His face was hidden behind a smooth, imposing mask. Only thin slits revealed faint silver light where his eyes should have been.
The moment Astren looked at him, his skin prickled.
"I am Overseer Kaelith," the man said calmly. His voice carried effortlessly. "You stand here because the stars—or the Council—have deemed you worth testing."
His gaze swept across the group.
When it passed over Astren, something brushed against Astren's senses. Cold. Measuring.
"This place does not exist to protect you," Kaelith continued. "It exists to reveal you."
A pause.
"Some of you will rise. Some of you will break. And some of you will be forgotten."
The word struck Astren harder than it should have.
Forgotten.
Kaelith turned—and stepped backward into shadow. His form dissolved as if the air itself swallowed him.
The tension broke slowly.
Groups formed. Conversations resumed. Astren remained near the edge of the platform, alone.
That was when he felt it.
A pull.
Not physical. Not visible.
Something tugged at his awareness.
Astren turned slightly. Near the far edge of the platform, a patch of stone appeared darker than the rest. Empty. Untouched.
And yet…
Thin threads of silver light shimmered briefly in the air, overlapping and fading like trails left behind by something that had passed through.
Star Echoes.
Astren's breath caught.
They were stronger here. Much stronger.
He took a careful step closer.
The world tilted.
Images flickered at the edge of his vision—blurred figures running, hurried breaths, fear so sharp it made his chest ache. A voice whispered, distant and broken:
"Don't trust—"
Astren staggered back, clutching his head.
"What's wrong with you?"
He looked up.
A girl stood nearby, arms crossed, watching him carefully. Her eyes were sharp, unreadable.
"You look sick," she said.
"I—I'm fine," Astren replied quickly.
She snorted. "Figures."
She turned away
.
Astren stayed still, heart pounding.
No one else had noticed.
The glowing band on his wrist pulsed once.
Then went still.
Astren followed the others through a narrow corridor carved directly into black stone. The walls were smooth, cold, and faintly reflective, though no clear reflections formed. Instead, shadows clung to every surface, stretching longer than they should have.
The deeper they went, the stronger the sensation became.
Star Echoes.
They layered over one another like invisible fingerprints—footsteps, voices, emotions. Astren's head throbbed as his senses tried to take everything in.
This place never forgets, he realized.
They were led into a wide hall where attendants assigned quarters without ceremony. Names were called. Paths were hinted at. Some candidates smiled confidently. Others looked nervous.
When Astren's name was called, a few people glanced his way, then quickly lost interest.
His room was small.
A narrow bed. A desk. A single dim light embedded in the wall. Clean, but lifeless.
The door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss.
Silence pressed in.
Astren sat on the bed, staring at his hands. The weight of everything finally settled—he was alone, in a place meant to break people.
The air shifted.
Astren's breath caught.
The shadows lengthened.
Thin silver lines appeared along the walls, the floor, the corners of the room.
Star Echoes—stronger than before.
He stood slowly, heart racing.
As he focused, images surfaced.
A boy pacing the room, whispering desperately. Hands shaking. Fear bleeding into the walls. A presence watching from beyond the door.
The vision snapped away.
Astren staggered back, chest tight.
"I'm not the first," he whispered.
The Echoes faded, but the fear remained.
A knock struck the door.
Astren flinched.
An older man stood outside, wearing an instructor's coat. His eyes were sharp, tired.
"Orientation," the man said. "Five minutes."
Astren followed.
The hall they entered was vast, carved with ancient symbols dulled by time. Overseer Kaelith stood at the center, mask gleaming faintly.
"You have been brought here to walk one of the Twelve Paths," Kaelith said. "Not all paths welcome the weak."
His masked gaze paused briefly on Astren.
"Tomorrow, evaluation begins."
A murmur spread.
Astren felt the Echoes stir again—restless, warning.
As the gathering ended, Astren sensed it clearly now.
Someone was watching him.
Not with eyes.
But through the echoes he left behind.
And somewhere above the
Ascension Grounds, a broken constellation flickered—dim, unstable, and awake.