The dormitory walls swallowed Yuxin's presence the moment she stepped inside, the long hush of the empty corridor replaced by the quiet creak of her own door. She dropped her weight onto the mattress, boots still on, and lay back without even bothering to undress. The ceiling above greeted her with that same familiar stillness, beams of wood painted in the faint shade of afternoon. Her eyes burned, her chest still heavy, but exhaustion crept through her muscles like a slow tide.
She let her eyes close.
And almost instantly, the world slipped away.
The air smelled of candle wax and old wood. Faint hymns murmured through the rafters, the low drone of ritual. When Yuxin opened her eyes again, she was no longer in her room. She stood within the chapel, sunlight filtering through the stained glass windows, shards of color bleeding across the stone floor like fragments of some forgotten rainbow.
Children stood in line before her—rows and rows of small figures shifting nervously, whispering among themselves. Their faces glowed with anticipation, with wonder. At the front, Sister Isolde guided them with patient warmth, her white veil brushing her shoulders as she placed her hand above a child's head. Beside her, Sister Ruyue loomed like a wall of iron, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, holding the ritual implements with a firmness that brooked no hesitation.
It was the ritual. The awakening of Astraga.
Yuxin found herself in line, small hands clenched with excitement, her heart hammering as though it might leap out of her chest. She stood just behind a girl whose dark hair swayed as she fidgeted in place. The sight made Yuxin's lips curve into a grin without thought.
"Lingxia!"
The name burst from her mouth with childish delight, sharper, brighter than she remembered her own voice ever being. The girl before her turned, her eyes—bright, mischievous, alive—meeting hers with recognition that warmed the air between them.
"Yuxin," Lingxia answered, her cheeks already glowing with the same eager anticipation.
Yuxin leaned closer, whispering as if the secret might spill too loud and spoil the moment.
"I can't wait. I want to know what Astraga I'll get. What if it's something amazing? What if it's strong enough that we can protect everyone in the village?"
Lingxia's lips parted in a smile, soft but full of fire.
"Then I'll get one too. And we'll fight side by side. You and me. Always."
The line shuffled forward, the next child stepping toward Sister Isolde. The candlelight flickered across their faces, painting them in gold. And Yuxin, eyes wide, clutched the hem of her dress tighter, her heart so full of joy it almost hurt.
Side by side. Always.
Her chest tightened. Somewhere, faint and distant, the chapel's light began to dim, and shadows stirred at the edges of her dream. But Yuxin ignored it, clinging to the moment, clinging to Lingxia's smile, clinging to the innocent promise spoken between them.
Because deep down, even in her dreams, she feared she already knew how the story ended.
The chapel grew silent when Lingxia's turn arrived. Sister Isolde raised her hands, lips moving with a hymn that quivered through the air, while Sister Ruyue steadied the ritual vessel, its faint shimmer casting pale glows across the girl's face.
A tremor split the air. From the floor beneath Lingxia, darkness erupted—thick, boiling, blacker than pitch. The congregation of children gasped as the shadows rose, writhing like smoke yet gleaming like iron when they hardened. From the abyssal mass, enormous hands burst forth—demonic, clawed, vast enough to shatter stone pillars if they willed.
Erebus Tendrils.
The Astraga had chosen her.
The gigantic claws flexed once, their steel-dark skin rippling as though both liquid and solid. Lingxia stood at the center, her hair whipped by a phantom wind, eyes reflecting awe and terror all at once.
Yuxin's mouth fell open, her small fists trembling with excitement.
"That's… incredible, Lingxia! You—your Astraga is amazing!"
Lingxia turned, wide-eyed, and though her chest heaved, her lips curved in a proud grin.
"It's strong, isn't it? But Yuxin—yours will be too. I know it. You'll get something even stronger than mine."
The reassurance sparked inside Yuxin's chest like fire catching dry grass. Her shoulders straightened, her steps brimming with confidence as the line shifted and Sister Isolde beckoned her forward.
It was her turn.
The sisters prepared the ritual again. The vessel hummed, a holy resonance filling the chapel, and the light of the stained glass danced like rivers across Yuxin's face. She shut her eyes, holding her breath, waiting for the surge, waiting for the shadow or flame or steel to answer her soul.
But nothing came.
The silence stretched too long.
Sister Isolde frowned, whispering another incantation, repeating gestures, her calm composure faltering when the vessel failed to react. The ritual circle flickered, then dimmed. Still—no manifestation.
Yuxin's brows knitted. She peeked up, her lips parting.
"...Did I do it wrong? Maybe it's broken—right? It has to be."
But Sister Isolde said nothing. Her lips pressed tight. She looked at Ruyue.
Ruyue's stern gaze had sharpened, her jaw clenched, shadows falling deeper across her lined face. She knew. She recognized it instantly—this silence, this void. It was no accident.
A rare curse. The mark of the Null-born. A child unable to forge a Pact.
Her voice broke when she spoke, quiet but heavy enough to crush the air.
"Yuxin… I'm sorry. It means… your body cannot call an Astraga. You cannot form a Pact."
The words were knives.
Yuxin blinked, her lips quivering as her head shook stubbornly.
"That's… a joke, right? Sister, you're kidding me. Tell me you're kidding—this is just a test, right? Right?"
But Ruyue's stern mask fractured. She stepped forward, her arms wrapping around Yuxin's small trembling body, pulling her into an embrace. The child's face pressed into the hard lines of her uniform, warm tears burning against skin that refused to believe the truth.
"I'm sorry, Yuxin," Ruyue whispered, her voice hoarse, her grip unyielding. "I'm so sorry."
And in that silence—while Lingxia still stood behind her with shadows vast and mighty, while every other child in the chapel watched with wide, uncertain eyes—Yuxin could only stand frozen, her tiny hands clinging to Ruyue's sleeve, her gaze hollow, her heart tearing in ways she didn't yet have words for.
The dream began to darken, the chapel melting into a blur, but the weight of those words burned themselves into her bones.
Null-born. Unchosen. Forsaken.