Starlight.
The power said to be born from the cold hush between constellations, older than mana yet stubbornly refusing to fit any of the old arcane taxonomies. Scholars once tried—luminos essence, cosmic qi, astral quintessence—dozens of names filed into dusty academies. None stuck. Because Starlight wasn't merely energy; it was a rumor wearing the shape of power.
It did not glow like fire-aura or crackle like storm-ether. It was quieter, and razor-clean, as if midnight itself had been distilled into motion. Those who'd brushed against it said it felt weightless in the palm but heavy in the soul—an echo of distant gravity, tugging thought outward toward infinity.
No scroll prior to the Ninth Epoch so much as footnoted the attribute. Not one bardic verse, not one marginalia scribble from half-mad court alchemists. Starlight arrived the way comets do: sudden, brilliant, and immediately bending maps around its path.
