Chapter 8
Weeks passed.
Dorm D became a name known in whispers and murmurs, not just because of their unlikely victory, but because of their growing unity.
Each morning, their classes grew harsher. Elemental control, tactical illusions, angelic law, celestial history—the foundation of a celestial warrior's education. But it was the combat simulations that made Dorm D infamous. Instructor Selkyr, ever watching, pushed them with relentless force.
"You think you're strong because you won a trial?" she barked one morning. "Power without discipline is death."
Still, they endured. And grew.
Astern especially.
His control over his dual aura deepened in secret. Sometimes, when alone, he could hear it whisper—his energy. Two voices. One of radiant stillness. The other of shifting void. Both pulling him toward something.
Lunaria noticed. She didn't press, but her silence was observant.
Kaela, on the other hand, dragged him to every spar, determined to beat him just once.
"You're still holding back," she huffed after a match.
"I don't like hurting people," he said simply.
She rolled her eyes. "Not everyone's made of glass, prince charming."
---
Then, one evening, a notice was posted across the academy.
The Celestial Divide: Annual Inter-Year Exhibition.
An elite event where first-years were pitted against second-years in a showcase of growth and potential. Spectators from across the angelic capitals would attend, including nobility, house elders, and even the High Instructors from the Archangel's realm.
"This is where reputations are made," Selkyr said. "And where weak bloodlines are cast out."
The news sparked frenzy.
Older students smirked, already planning how to embarrass the new batch. First-years trained harder, desperate to not be crushed. Dorm D, however, met it with focus.
They would fight as one.
---
The arena was vast—carved into floating sky-islands, each shaped by different elemental themes. Fire plains, frost ridges, shifting illusions.
Dorm D stood at their gate, weapons ready.
Lunaria wore her frost weave armor, breath misting with every exhale. Kaela spun her blades with nervous excitement. Astern wore a sleek black combat suit etched with faint silver lines—his aura hidden, contained.
Their opponents? A team of second-years from Dorm V, all noble-blooded and eager to prove superiority.
"Don't blink," Kaela whispered.
The gates opened.
The battle was chaos.
Kaela darted forward, clashing with a heavyset angel wielding fire-chains. Lunaria froze their footing, locking down movement. Zirak summoned a spectral serpent that blocked a thunderstorm spell.
Astern waited.
Watched.
Then, when the enemy's aura spiked, he moved.
In a blink, he was behind their lead caster—disabling her with a precise strike that numbed her aura flow. Then he vanished again, reappearing beside Kaela, shielding her from a flame strike with a veil of twilight energy.
Half light. Half shadow.
The crowd began to murmur.
"Who is that?"
When the dust settled, Dorm D stood victorious.
Second-years defeated.
The arena roared.
High above, watching from a glass platform, an angel with eyes of glowing gold—Seraphon's equal—leaned toward a silver-robed woman.
"The boy from Duskvale," he said.
She nodded. "Umbrenox blood. I'd bet my halo."
"Then the old bloodline isn't dead."
"Not yet."
Below, Astern looked up at the stars.
He felt something.
Something watching.
And somewhere—far from the academy, on the shattered ghoul planet—Kyte stood atop a crumbling spire, gazing toward the stars.
"He's growing too fast," he muttered.
Behind him, shadows moved.
"Then it's time the world remembered what bloodline they tried to bury."