Duskfall City
As dusk deepened and the twilight sky bled into deeper shades of violet and indigo, something in the air began to change. The Springtime Advent Festival in Duskfall had been in full swing—its lanterns floating gently in the cool evening breeze, children laughing as they chased after street performers, and the air thick with the sweet scent of roasted chestnuts and warm pastries.
The grand fireworks display was underway, its explosions of color marking the night sky with showers of reds, greens, and golds. Music filled the air, a lively and joyous rhythm that echoed down every street, every alley, every home.
But then, it all shifted.
The fireworks, once bursting in radiant, joyful cacophony, suddenly stilled mid-air, their brilliant flames frozen for a heartbeat before fading, as if the very essence of celebration had been silenced.
The rhythm of life in Duskfall stuttered, like a chord played out of tune. The laughter that had once bubbled through the streets faltered, and the flickering lanterns above the marketplace seemed to dim just slightly, as if their light had been drained of some of its warmth. The bustling, chaotic energy of the festival seemed to pause, the very city itself holding its breath.
An ancient energy stirred in the silence, spreading through the streets of Duskfall like an invisible mist. Though the people of the city did not understand it, they felt it—a shift in the very air, a thickening of the atmosphere that set the hairs on the back of their necks alight.
The festivities, once vibrant, now felt oddly distant, like a dream that was fading, and in its place, something profound and unsettling began to unfurl.
Above, the stars themselves began to shimmer with an intensity that bordered on the unnatural. The familiar constellations, once steady and cold, flickered erratically, their usual calm light now sharp, brittle—like daggers of pure brilliance cutting through the expanding night.
It wasn't just a change in brightness; it was as though the stars were alive, their steady rhythm of light now erratic, pulsing with a strange, almost otherworldly energy. The heavens seemed to throb with a quiet power, a presence waking deep within the vault of the cosmos, stirring like a beast rousing from a long slumber.
And then, the shadows began to stir.
At first, it was almost imperceptible—the usual playful flicker of candlelight on the cobblestones, the shadows stretching long across the walls of buildings, now seemed to shift ever so slightly, as if they were slipping out of their natural alignment. But soon, that subtlety faded, and the shadows grew restless.
They moved. Slithering, twisting across the stone streets like living tendrils, curling and bending in ways that defied reason, they began to wrap around the market stalls, stretch along the brickwork of the old noble homes, and coil around the legs of unsuspecting citizens. The familiar absence of shadow turned into something more—a tangible presence, alive, aware, an intelligence lurking just beyond what the eye could see.
On the sides of the great stone buildings, the shadows began to dance and flicker, not as simple imprints of light, but as twisting, writhing forms. Faces, or perhaps shapes that were not quite human, appeared and vanished, as though the shadows themselves were watching, waiting, pulling at the edges of reality.
The air grew heavy, a tension that only the seasoned or the magical could feel, pressing down on the crowd like the weight of a storm about to break. Eyes widened in terror and awe. A chill ran through the people like a phantom breeze, and many instinctively pulled their cloaks tighter, shying away from the darkness that was now something more than mere absence.
The heartbeat of Duskfall seemed to skip in time with the sudden shift. What had been a festival of joy, laughter, and warmth was now thick with a palpable fear—a fear that no one could quite place, but everyone felt.
The citizens, noble and commoner alike, looked up to the sky, their eyes drawn to the unnatural flickering of the stars. The glow of the lanterns, the warmth of the firelight, was not enough to push back the shadows now dancing on the very edges of their minds.
In the heart of the city, among the noble houses, there was a deeper disturbance. The mana in the air had shifted, thickened. The higher concepts, the very essence of power itself, were stirring.
Those bearing godhood all looked into the divine realms to see the cause yet all they saw was pure magical prowess of a hidden rank six angel at the pinnacle level.
The city had been altered, rewoven, and those attuned to it could feel the crackling energy beneath their feet. Even some of the rank fours, those lesser but still potent mages, felt the pull, the unsettling surge of something deep and ancient waking
...
The Regal Coin, cold and silent, hung from the chest of the Matriarch of Dusk the Queen of Duskfall, its smooth surface catching the dim light of the room. For a moment, it was just another forgotten trinket, part of the opulent regalia of a ruler who had seen everything, ruled over everything.
But as her gaze suddenly narrowed, the air seemed to pulse, faintly, a strange energy rippling through. Her aura shifted with an unsettling intensity—heavier, darker, as though the very atmosphere itself thickened in response to her will.
The room, which had once been bathed in warm light, now turned unbearably dark. The walls seemed to close in, the corners fading into inky blackness as shadows swallowed everything in their path.
The very air grew colder, biting against the skin, as if the warmth of life itself was being drawn away, leaving only an oppressive emptiness in its place.
Her eyes, once full of the wisdom of ages, now became cold and emotionless, hollowed by something that transcended time itself. She lifted her gaze, her vision piercing the stone walls and the roof above, looking into the vast, endless sky that spread out over the Castle of Dusk.
The stars themselves seemed to shiver beneath her scrutiny. A fleeting moment of recognition flashed across her face as she tried to pierce this strange anomaly, only for it to be blocked off, followed by a slight frown—an expression that spoke of knowledge too ancient, too dangerous to be fully understood.
The Mage Coin, now reflecting the dim stars above, trembled with an almost imperceptible hum.
"Interesting," she murmured to herself, her voice a quiet, chilling whisper that echoed unnaturally in the silence of the room.
With those words, the oppressive tension in the room shattered in an instant. A blinding light erupted from her, so intense that it seemed to wash away the very shadows themselves. The walls, the floor, the ceiling—every inch of the room was consumed by light so pure, so unyielding, that it seemed as if the concept of darkness had ceased to exist entirely within its reach. The shadows that had lingered, ever present in the corners, now had no place to hide. They were erased, as if they had never been.
The power in that light was immense. It vibrated through the air, distorting the very fabric of reality around it, as if the room itself could no longer contain the force that had been unleashed.
The Matriarch's eyes, still cold and sharp, were fixed on the heavens, her gaze unwavering as though she could sense something, some greater power stirring in the void. Something that even she had not anticipated.
The light pulsed once, then began to fade. But the room was still far brighter than it had been moments before, and the shadows that had once lurked in every corner of the Castle of Dusk now cowered, banished into the unseen spaces between the cracks of existence. The very essence of night had been forced into submission, replaced by the cold, radiant light that hung like an omen in the air.
The air itself was still, thick with the weight of something new, something that had never before been felt in Duskfall.
The Matriarch stood there, her cold eyes still fixed on the stars, the ancient knowledge and power in her mind silently processing the change, the subtle stirring of a force too great to ignore.
"Interesting," she repeated, her voice now colder than before, like a distant echo from the depths of time.
....
Somewhere deep underground, far from the bustling streets and the noble halls above, a man stood alone in the heart of the unfathomable shadows. The shadows in this chamber were unlike any other, thick and dark, curling around the room like living things.
They seemed to stretch infinitely into the corners, an abyss that threatened to swallow anything that dared approach. This was a place where only those with command over the darkness could stand without being consumed by it.
This man, with his light gray hair and eyes the color of the velvet twilight that stretched across the skies of Duskfall, was no ordinary figure. His form was muscular, battle-worn, a testament to a life lived in the pursuit of victory. His scarstold stories of countless battles fought, each one a reminder of the wars he had endured.
The Commander of Dusk, as he was known, was a figure both revered and feared in the city.An Angel of Dusk. His presence alone could silence the most boisterous of crowds, and the shadows themselves seemed to bow to his will.
The room around him seemed to shudder as he stood, alone, training within the deepening black of the subterranean shadows. His body was drenched in sweat, his movements smooth and practiced, as though he had been honing his craft for centuries.
The air around him thrummed with the intensity of his power, his aura almost tangible, wrapping around him like a mantle of divine energy, the force of it akin to that of an angel—perfect, devastating, and all-encompassing.
Then, without warning, the shadows shifted.
He looked up, his eyes distant as if trying to make out something, only for it to be blocked. He frowned
The deep, cold shadows—once obedient, loyal to their master—began to dance, twisting and swirling in patterns that could only be described as celebration. They flickered in an erratic display, as if alive, alive with joy.
It was a phenomenon he had never experienced before—shadows that danced, shadows that celebrated, something he had never commanded. It was as though a new ruler had emerged, one who had the power to make the very darkness bend and rejoice.
The Commander's eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing in a mix of confusion, anger, and disbelief. He had felt it—the change in the air, the subtle shift, the presence of something higher, something far beyond his control.
The ripples in the heavens were not a mere illusion. Something had stirred, something ancient, something that commanded the very essence of the night. It was powerful—too powerful, and its influence was undeniable.
"What the?" he muttered, his voice low, grating, as his hand clenched around his sword. His pulse quickened, but his gaze remained fixed on the shadows that dared to disobey him.
The shadows, once steadfast and under his control, now rejoiced. They swirled in jubilant patterns, as though they were no longer his servants but the followers of something greater. It was insubordination, and it infuriated him.
This wasn't the first time the shadows had rebelled. The first instance was when he faced off against a Angel of Shadow, a being whose mastery over darkness far surpassed his own. The second time—though he would rather forget it—had been when he faced a Certain female angel whose presence was both terrifying and alluring, and whose power seemed to haunt his every waking moment.
The man's voice was a low growl, barely a whisper in the silence that had overtaken the room.
"Night," he spoke, the word slipping from his lips like a curse, his command powerful enough to shake the very foundation of the shadows themselves. The room seemed to quiver with the weight of his voice, the mana in the air twisting like a violent storm on the verge of breaking.
At his command, the shadows froze, as though they had been caught in the very grip of death itself. They no longer danced, no longer celebrated. They stood still—trembling—terrified to move. They knew better than to defy the Commander of Dusk, and yet, for the briefest of moments, they had dared to celebrate.
The air itself seemed to freeze in place, heavy with the force of his will, his body littered with scars now a testament to his dominance, his voice now an embodiment of the darkness he controlled.
The Commander stood, his eyes blazing with anger, the shadows at his feet quaking under his gaze. He was the master here, and no force—not even the heavens themselves—could take that from him.
"Night," he repeated, his voice now a silent command, a warning, a promise.
The shadows quivered, bowed to his will once again, and the unseen presence that had tried to awaken with the celebration was brought to heel. For now, at least. But the Commander knew that something much larger was at play. Something that had already begun to stir in the depths of the world. And it would take everything he had to keep it at bay.
.....
Duskfall City
All around the city the shadows began to dance.
It was as though the very night itself had taken on a life of its own. Silhouettes twisted and undulated across the walls of ancient buildings, their movements graceful yet eerie, as if they were mocking the passersby.
Some turned their heads, their eyes wide with unease, but none could make sense of the shifting darkness.
The shadows pulled themselves into strange, unnatural shapes, growing and shrinking with the rhythm of an unseen pulse.
From the highest towers to the lowest alleyways, the people of Duskfall stopped. The workers in the streets, the scholars in their arcane libraries, the nobles preparing for their evening feasts—all of them paused.
The world felt alive, and yet, strangely wrong. Whispers began to thread through the crowd, and some took to their knees, instinctively grasping for their Mana Coins, the only source of comfort in the face of such an inexplicable occurrence
In the high towers where the nobles of Duskfall kept their quiet vigil, the magicians, scholars, and sorcerers felt it first—an electric charge in the air, a magical hum resonating through the ancient bones of the city.
Their fingers twitched at the familiar arcane symbols they had studied all their lives, but this was something they did not know, something untamed.It was the very essence of the stars—raw and untethered, flowing like a river of molten light.
The streets buzzed with unease. Nobles, in their silks and velvet robes, exchanged worried glances. The usual calm of the evening was fractured.
A ripple of nervous energy passed through the crowd as the shadows twisted and danced. In every corner, in every street, in every shadow, something was changing. Some whispered it was a sign from the gods.
Then, above the city, in the very heart of the heavens, the stars themselves began to align. It was not a simple shift in constellations, but a dramatic, celestial upheaval.
The light from the stars burned brighter than it ever had before, casting their rays down upon Duskfall with a strange, unearthly glow.
A flare of light split the night, and the darkness itself seemed to tremble as if it were made of something alive, something that feared the coming of what had been lost.
The city stilled in that moment. A deep, collective silence settled like a heavy cloak, and everyone—from the lowliest merchant to the most powerful noble—knew without speaking, A change was coming
No, it was far more profound than that—a symbolic birth, an awakening. It was the resurgence of ancient power, an energy so old it felt as though the very bones of the world were trembling.
The shadows that had danced began to swirl, growing stronger, more defined, as if they were feeding off the newfound force in the sky they became almost tangible.
The stars burned with a power that seemed to breathe, their light forming patterns in the heavens that no mortal had ever seen. In the deepest heart of Duskfall, the streets themselves seemed to bend—as if the world was folding inward, drawing everything toward the center of some unspoken event.
The heavens dimmed. Shadows withdrew, curling back into their rightful places. The city exhaled in shuddering silence, but nothing would ever be the same.
Only a few understood the truth. The angels and devils of Sahara felt it, rank-five saints and demons alike pausing in dread and awe. Mana itself had celebrated, recognizing the awakening of a being whose existence would shake eternity.
They tried to pierce the veil, to glimpse the one who had caused such upheaval. But another Angel's hand barred them.
The world was shifting. The game of gods had begun anew.
....
Cathedral of Stars, Shadow Domain
In a starry cathedral a tall man with black hair and violet eyes wearing a linen robe that seemed to be made of cloth littered with starlight was preaching a sermon, many believers prayed piously as he spoke in a calm gentle tone he held a star made out of star metal in one hand as he spoke, this Archbishop was none other then Saint Satalus one of the Archbishops of the Church of Night. The last believers of Noctis.
Satulus's Voice echoed out into the cathedral, "Thus spoke our lord, I am. The Infinite and Unknown, The embodiment of the Void and Cosmos, Father of Stars. The Lord of Silence and Eternity. The ruler above Space and Time. The God of Night. Thus, the Gods all backed off his divine domain, and the sky was born" Satalus continued his sermon as his thought wandered as he gazed upon the pious believers a pang of sadness making its way to his soul, to how his faith was dying.
Their church was the least prominent in the realms and was deeply ostracized by other churches due to the alleged treachery of their god in the Fracture war of old. They maintained a small presence in all of the realms and preached quietly, However in the realm of Sahara they were only allowed to preach and proselytize in the nations of Shadow, and Luna as they were straight out declared a blasphemous organization by Dawn and Dusk, While their church was powerful, they were declining rapidly.
After House Nights fall, their lords own kin and blood was exterminated by their enemies, The Church of Night rapidly fell, the Angels of Night after all protected the Church and were seen as holy figures, yet they still fell, this day was called The Weeping of the Stars a religious holiday to mourn the Lords kin and to reaffirm once faith."
The Church's Situation was not good.
In other realms the Church had maintained an even smaller presence, yet they still persisted and prayed to their dead god as the others did in hopes of reaching his divine kingdom. To one day perhaps become a Star in the infinite tapestry of the universe and join the lord in his Divine Kingdom.
Satalus sighed inwardly tired. His faction was faltering, At their height they were Royal Stewards their church one of the most prominent in Sahara, They had multiple Angels and even the Seraphs were wary of their faction, now they were without any angels and had barely Fifty Saints, only ten were of pinnacle tier yet none dare attempt ascension to angel hood. Satalus was one of those ten, Satalus even wielded one of the lords authorities, he was a gravity mage and had a angelic artifact, Weight of the Stars, a staff of unimaginable power, with it he can match angelic beings for a short period of time making him one of the main power houses of the church stationed in the main cathedral of Night which was relocated after the fall to the outskirts of House Shadows domain.
As Saint Satalus spoke of Nights commandments, the Commandment of Stars particular, he felt the stars etched inside the ceiling of the Cathedral brighten. His voice faltered. He felt the sky tremble. The disturbance in the divine realms alerted him as he instantly stopped his preaching as gravity warped around him, instantly he found himself on the very top of the cathedral of stars as he looked out to the night sky.There he saw the Stars brightly shining, to an eerie degree as they Celebrate, as if welcoming something...or someone. His eyes shifted as he tried to see what was happening, his heart pounding as mad zealous fervor found its way inside his very soul.
What he saw however, was a mass of angelic energy at the pinnacle level, yet he heard it clear. A declaration to all the Realms, one that invoked higher powers and mana itself causing a reaction of unimaginable strength! what he heard made his eyes water and soul ignite with hope.
"Rise --- Fallen Amir --- ----- are now ----Noctis!. The last heir -- the Night, The Prince of the Stars the Lord -- Shadows!"
This was a divine revelation, Noctis! the Name of their lord! A fallen prince!, House Hunt, House Dawn and House Dusk had failed in their culling and now one bearing the magical prowess and bloodline of their god was realized. Saint Satalus put his head down as he prayed silently, his face wet. His faith would not falter. He would seek out this prince and he would protect him with his life one way or another.
This was his destiny. "Praise the Stars" he cried out.
...
Duskfall.
The gazes of ancient and forgotten powers receded like a retreating tide, and Odin's overwhelming aura finally withdrew. The forge quieted. Yet Astra trembled on the very edge of collapse, his body wracked by violent shudders.
He was only Rank One—nothing but dust before the storm—yet he had stood within the presence of a Rank Six Angel who had revealed only the faintest sliver of his true power. The fact that Astra still breathed was a miracle. In truth, if not for the divine current awakened within him, he would have long since fallen unconscious.
Still, he rose. Somehow. His knees quaked as though the ground itself might split beneath him, but he forced his body upright.
What he had seen would never leave him.
"Ho…" Odin's voice rumbled, the faintest chuckle rolling from his chest as the oppressive heat of the Great Forge dimmed back to its usual, steady glow. The brilliance that had once threatened to consume everything retreated to embers.
"You truly are interesting, boy." Odin's eyes narrowed, surprise gleaming in their glacial depths. Even he, the Grandmaster of Steel, had not foreseen every turn.
Astra's thoughts spun like a whirlwind, but all of them collided into one undeniable truth—The stars rejoiced above him.The shadows whispered his name.Threads of destiny wove themselves around his soul, while unfathomable gazes from beyond reality pressed down upon him.
Terror gnawed at him. His every instinct screamed to run, to hide, to vanish. Yet somehow—through will alone—he remained standing, clinging to what little control he could muster.
Odin, his presence now veiled, studied him. Those piercing blue eyes—cold, unyielding, ancient—held something more than judgment. Expectation.
"Wh…what was that?" Astra stammered, voice trembling.
"The space between the divine realms. The edge of reality," Odin answered as though speaking of common stone.
The weight in the room lessened, though Astra's chest still heaved as if he had run a thousand miles. His legs wobbled beneath him, yet he forced himself upright, unwilling to collapse in front of Odin.
"What… what was that?" he stammered, voice cracked.
"The space between all the divine realms," Odin said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His tone was calm, but his eyes glinted with ancient memory. "The edge of reality itself."
Astra's throat went dry. "Those gazes… what I saw. The current Gods? the Seraphs and Sins?"
"Yes and no." Odin's head tilted slightly, his expression hard. "What you witnessed were only vestiges—echoes of their holy presence. If you had truly laid eyes upon a Seraph, or a Sin, or even one fragment of their essence…" His gaze sharpened, and the temperature in the forge dropped to ice. "…you would already be dead. Man cannot gaze upon god and live."
The words hollowed Astra out. His mind reeled—he had glimpsed divinity, even if only shadows of it. He, a mortal.
Odin's lips curled into a sharp, arrogant smile. "They tried to pry into you, of course. They felt the stir in fate, the shift in threads. But fear not, young heir—I blocked most of them. Perhaps three, maybe five beings in all the realms, managed to truly witness what transpired, but those few have no reason to move against you. Some may even lend their hands to see you rise."
Astra swallowed hard, his heartbeat slowing, though his body still trembled. "…So what did happen?"
At that, Odin's face grew grave. He exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing as though weighing how much Astra could handle.
"There are six great mortal realms," Odin began, his voice low but resonant. "Snaer, Wai, Apu, Sahara, Alfhiem, and Dunya. These are the worlds you know—lands where mortals live and die, guarded by Seraphs, bounded by seals of long-fallen gods."
He leaned forward, his shadow spilling across Astra like a mantle. "But beyond them are the three divine realms. The Spirit Realm, where all life is bound—where death, holiness, corruption, every tether of existence takes form. The Astral Realm, where time and space unravel, where chaos and order themselves breathe. And last, the Mana Realm, the bridge between the two—where fate, destiny, and purpose are written, and Mana itself is born."
Each word pressed into Astra like molten iron. He had heard whispers in the churches—parables from the priests of Knowledge, claiming their goddess's kingdom lay in Spirit and Astral both, promising her faithful a place there after death. But this was no sermon. This was truth spoken by one who had stood at the edge of it all.
Odin's voice settled into something calm, deliberate, like a teacher recounting history."As to what happened… I am, in essence, filling you in on the secrets and plots of deities. As for why?" His lips twitched into a smirk. "Figure that out yourself. In the war for the sky, you know how the Eternal Keeper joined in—how she even supported the fall of your house. Yet not all beings chose her side. House Night had contingencies for such calamity. Most great houses do. And so, as Night fell, certain beings shielded what remained—hiding survivors, cloaking the divine authority itself, in hopes that one day a worthy heir might rise to claim it and rule over the night once more."
Astra's heart clenched. The Keeper of Knowledge… the goddess he had admired all his life, the one he thought had stood for wisdom and guidance—she had aided in the slaughter of his bloodline. His chest felt hollow, yet heavy all at once. He wanted to rage, but grief smothered it.
"That Crown," Odin went on, "is the symbol of that divine authority. A Godhood Artifact, passed down to you. As for the Cloak…" He paused, his eyes narrowing, as though even he were unsettled. "…even I did not foresee its appearance. I know not how many artifacts your House claimed, or where they all rest—but two of them chose you."
Astra's voice cracked. "Godhood artifacts?"
Odin's chuckle rolled through the forge like distant thunder. "Don't worry, boy—you're not going to wake up dead or corrupted tomorrow."
Astra blinked, his face paling. "Wait—I can die? I can get corrupted?!"
Odin threw his head back and laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. "In a sense. The Crown of Stars—one of the Seven Symbols of Night's Authority—deemed you fit to bear it. That alone is a boon of unimaginable power. Some angels wield the symbols of other gods, some even forge their own. For you, it means the Crown has tied itself to your soul. At Rank One it is weak, yes—but as you grow, its strength will mirror yours. Your star-magic will deepen, and with each rank, the Crown will grant you further gifts."
His tone grew heavier, colder. "But the Cloak—that is something else entirely. The Cloak of Secrecy, the most coveted of Night's symbols. It has eluded even the strongest houses—Shadow among them—for centuries. And yet, it has bound itself to you. Two Godhood Artifacts, falling into the lap of a Rank One mortal. Coincidence?" He shook his head. "No. Providence."
Astra's thoughts spiraled, his chest tightening with disbelief. The Crown of Stars? The Cloak of Secrecy? Two of the Seven Symbols of Night—mine? Me, a Rank One?! Isn't this too much?! Too convenient?
He could feel the Cloak even now, its whispering veil draped around him, shielding him from prophecy, divination, the eyes of gods who might pry. Yet beyond its concealment, it offered nothing—no strength, no weapon. Not yet. And the Crown… he needed to test it, to truly know what it could do.
Odin, watching Astra's panic with amusement, smiled knowingly. "It is not abnormal for mortals to be chosen. Most prodigies bear artifacts as they ascend. Divine beings cannot intervene directly—for an artifact to be truly claimed, it must be inherited in full. Killing the chosen only delays its emergence, and the backlash of such an act… ha." His smile sharpened, cruel. "Even angels have died to that wrath. Whole hosts have burned for daring to cut short a symbol's destiny."
Astra swallowed hard. So even the gods hesitate…
"In this political climate," Odin finished, "no one dares risk such a blunder again. And besides—" His eyes locked onto Astra, cold and unyielding. "You cannot fully inherit either artifact until you grow stronger. Until then, you are… safe enough. By the time their true weight falls upon you, you will have the power to defend yourself."
The Angel shook his head slowly.
"No. I said any divine being—or one who exceeds your power by an impossible margin. Only then would the Symbols have the right to mobilize their powers and unleash backlash. If you were to die to a rank three, two, or even a one, nothing would happen. Even if you make it to rank three and then fall to a rank four—still nothing. You are very much still in danger."
Odin chuckled.
Astra paled. He thought it was bad enough having a wanted bounty poster for fifty gold standards. Now he had gods after him. Gods… I feel sick, he thought, stomach churning at the revelation.
Odin's grin widened as he watched Astra's distress. "Zehaha… I would even wager some beings may decide to support and nurture your rise, if only to create problems for rival factions who seek those Symbols. Your allies and enemies are now clear and cut. Anyone who needs to claim your godhoods will seek to subjugate you, nurture you, and then dispose of you. Perhaps, if you prove useful, they might even keep you."
He paused, then smiled darkly.
"As to who might need your godhoods? Obviously, any who wield concepts related to Stars, Night, and even Shadows—perhaps even the Sky itself. Right now, Dawn and Dusk primarily, , Shadow shouldn't even be able to detect the Cloak of Secrecy and even then they cannot steal it. As to the others? Some secret organizations perhaps though I wouldn't be surprised if unknown factions also take interest. And knowing them? You will die on the spot, for they may already have scions with claims upon those same godhoods. That makes you a direct competitor."
Astra exhaled shakily.
Okay. So I won't die by some mysterious divine being who's randomly seeking artifacts. No… I'll die after they nurture me, only to slaughter me like a fattened pig. Or worse, be assassinated because I've grown too large, eating from the other fat pigs' trough. Got it.
He lampooned the thought to steady his mind, though the humor was thin and fragile. Still… it's true. I wonder what he truly means. Damn, this is too much.
Struggling for breath, Astra managed to ask through the haze of his thoughts, "So… I'm a prince? One wanted dead by two royal families… and even gods?"
His voice cracked as he let out a bitter laugh, sinking into a chair as though the weight of it all had crushed him. "What has this wretched world come to?"
Odin's eyes glinted with ancient amusement, his words rolling forth heavy as stone.
"Astra, as the Heir of Night and the bearer of two godhood artifacts, you now have duties. Obligations not only to yourself, but to every ancestor who ever walked before you. To the dead gods themselves. You now lay claim to the Authorities of Divine beings."
Astra felt a slow, burning frustration claw at him, each word Odin spoke coiling tighter around his chest like chains of fate. He despised the very idea—that his life was no longer his own. Gratitude had no place here. Nothing in this world came freely. Two artifacts falling into his hands? No. That was no coincidence. That was a ploy. Some unfathomable will had moved the pieces, and for it to have slipped beneath even the gazes of deities… the being behind it was beyond imagining.
Royal obligations, divine burdens—each felt like another shackle. And yet, beneath the resentment that churned hot in his gut, something else stirred. A hunger. A yearning he hated to admit. Something more than filth-ridden streets and coin scraped together for bread. Something… greater.
"But what if I don't want this?" His voice cracked with anger and disbelief, his hands gripping the chair until the wood groaned. "Is this not a scheme? We both know nothing comes without cost! Am I truly meant to believe such a burden exists for my sake?"
Odin did not answer. He only regarded Astra with a silence heavy as the ages, eyes glowing with a cold, blue light that seemed to see through skin and bone. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of centuries.
"Perhaps. But tell me, Astra… have you never felt it? That gnawing emptiness? That you were out of place? That you longed for more than the life of a rat scrambling in the gutter?"
His tone softened, but the words struck sharper than any blade.
"Do not lie to me. Do not lie to yourself. I can see it in your eyes—the same emptiness that hangs over Duskfall's sky at twilight. Loneliness. Solitude. It clings to you."
Astra's face contorted with defiance, but the denial caught in his throat. A hollowness pressed into his chest, robbing him of breath. Odin was right. He hated the streets. He hated the filth, the constant struggle, the degrading acts he had been forced to endure just to see another dawn. He despised the silence of his existence, the isolation that wrapped around him like a second skin.
He hated how weak he was.
He hated that, in the end, he was nothing more than a rat.
And yet… the stars had chosen him. The shadows whispered his name. His path stretched before him, terrible and undeniable.
"I can feel it too," Odin said, voice curling through the air like smoke. "The fire in you. That restless ache for more. You cannot bury it. You cannot lie to your body, nor to your heart."
His eyes gleamed with something close to obsession. "You are marked, child. A spark burns at the core of your soul. It will consume you. It is your obligation to burn by it, to let it remake you in its flames—even if it leaves nothing but ash."
The words wound around Astra like chains, binding tighter with every syllable. His thoughts reeled, half-choked with fear, half-drenched in something darker—temptation.
"Realize your path. Realize your destiny. Realize your future."
The silence that followed was vast, broken only by the faint whisper of wind threading through the underground vault. Astra lifted his gaze, searching upward, past the stone, past the weight of earth, toward the faint stars piercing through the night. Distant, fragile lights in an ocean of void.
Odin's voice lingered in his ears, echoing with a finality that felt carved into fate itself.
"Don't forget Astra. Stars shine brightest when they are alone.
Odin was right. Of course he was. Astra had no choice now—and perhaps he never needed one.
Had he not spent nights staring into the void of Duskfall's skies, whispering prayers to gods long dead? Had he not begged for a chance—any chance—to rise above the gutter, to seize a life that meant more than survival? He yearned for freedom, yes, but also for power. For authority. He wanted to right old wrongs, to punish, to uplift, to take what was denied him—and perhaps to commit sins and walk away untouched, simply because he could.
And now the chance lay before him. To rise. To ascend. To inherit the Night itself.
Who was he to keep lying to himself? To rot in the filth, to die as a nameless rat in the alleys of Duskfall, when the stars and shadows called his name?
Astra closed his eyes, steadying his breath. For a long moment the silence pressed around him, heavy as stone. When he opened them again, his violet irises gleamed with a light that hadn't been there before. They were no longer hollow—they were sharp, alive, burning with something that had always waited beneath the surface.
"If my path leads me to the Stars and the Shadows," he said, voice steady, smirk curling on his lips, "and if I am to wield their power… who am I to say no? I will survive. I will endure. I will persevere—just as I always have."
A slow smile broke across Odin's face, sharp and knowing. His blue eyes glinted with an ancient approval.
"Then Astra Noctis," Odin intoned, his voice a resonance that seemed to hum in the marrow of the earth, "realize your potential. Grow. Rise. Become an angel. Reach the pinnacle."
He paused, and the shadow of something heavier passed across his expression.
"This concludes the favor I owed your ancestor."
His gaze lifted, as if to some unseen tribunal. For the briefest instant, something vast and unfathomable flickered behind his eyes.
"The Law of Exchange has been fulfilled."
Leaning forward, Odin's voice dropped into a warning growl.
"Remember, Astra—there are still allies of the Night. Seek House Shadow. They rule the City of Penumbra, the Shadowkeep in the Umbral Plains. They will aid you, if you prove yourself worthy. The Church of Night will come for you in time—but not now. If you are seen with them too soon, they will be culled to the last. Still, they remain loyal to you."
His smile returned, thinner, sharper.
"And do not fear the angels of shadow uncovering your godhood. The Goddesses symbol is hidden from them. Even if they could see it, they could never claim it."
Astra nodded, the weight of every word settling into him like iron. Thoughts tumbled—hope, fear, ambition, dread—but for once they did not pull him apart.
The chamber fell into silence once more, so deep it felt as though the very world was holding its breath, waiting to see what Astra would do next.