The squad had barely slept.
After defeating the Sigil Hunters, they took shelter in the ruins of an ancient astral outpost—known only in broken glyphs as the Sanctum of First Flame. Carved into the side of a cliff, its walls shimmered faintly with faded constellations that moved as though trapped between breath and time.
Erza leaned against one of the stone pillars, watching the celestial mural drift in and out of focus.
It was strangely silent here.
As if the stars themselves remembered something terrible.
He closed his eyes.
And dreamed.
The flames were screaming.
Erza stood not as himself—but as someone younger. A boy, no more than ten, standing on the marbled balcony of the Duskfire Citadel, staring out over a kingdom drowning in fire.
The capital of Solmara burned.
Warhorns blared below, followed by the shriek of beasts—not natural ones, but constructs of dark constellation magic. The skies had turned black and violet, and a massive figure stood at the city's edge.
A knight of shadow. Crowned in shattered sigils.
His father, King Lucien Duskfire, fought below with the Blade of Leo—the same weapon Erza would one day wield. He stood against the invader even as fire rained from the heavens.
A voice spoke beside Erza in the dream.
"I remember this too."
He turned.
A boy stood next to him. Same face. Same eyes.
Azren.
Only this time, he was real—not a phantom, not a rage-bound echo.
Just a boy.
"You were crying that day," Azren said. "But I wasn't. I wanted them to burn. I wanted to see the ones who betrayed us turned to ash."
"Who betrayed us?" Erza asked, his voice thin.
Azren's expression darkened.
"Not the Shadow Consortium. Not first. It was the other kingdoms. The ones who let the Duskfire fall. The ones who feared what two Leo-bearers might become."
Erza looked away.
The dream shifted—blurring into the throne room. His mother, Queen Elira, stood holding both their hands. But only one of them could bear the Leo Mark.
"I begged her to split it," Azren whispered. "To let us share it. But the stars don't divide their favor."
In a flash of memory, Erza saw the ceremony: the Astral Seer casting her glyphs into the sky, the Leo sigil descending—not to Azren, but to him.
Azren was left untouched.
Unchosen.
The scene fractured again.
Now Azren stood bound in a star-circle, his aura thrashing, eyes wild with rejection and pain.
"His flame is too unstable," one of the Seers said. "He carries wrath where the Mark requires balance."
"He's a child!" Queen Elira cried. "He's our son!"
Erza saw himself again—watching as they performed the sealing. Azren's soul was fractured and anchored inside the Leo constellation itself, torn from the waking world, turned into myth.
And just like that, the dream began to collapse.
Flame turned to stardust.
The citadel to ash.
But Azren lingered a moment longer, looking straight at Erza.
"They took me from the world," he said, "but they gave you a throne made of my bones."
"You think I asked for this?"
"No. But one day, you'll have to answer for it."
Erza woke with a sharp gasp.
Selene stood nearby, her sword leaning against her shoulder, eyes half-lidded with concern. "Nightmare?"
He shook his head, sitting up.
"No. A memory."
Outside the sanctum, the wind howled.
But the stars had shifted.
The Leo constellation—so often dimmed—was now burning brighter than ever. But beside it, another pattern had begun to form.
One he hadn't noticed before.
An inverted lion—scarred, broken, yet still roaring.
Azren's soul, reflected among the heavens.
And far in the east, deep within the Veiled Realms, the Shadow Consortium gathered their high circle.
The Constellation War wasn't over.
It was just waking up.