The dust in the Star-Spired Athenaeum had a memory. Elian believed this with the fervor of a scholar and the quiet obsession of a man who spent more time with parchment than people. Each mote, he was sure, remembered the light of every star whose story was recorded on the endless shelves, and carried the scent of every age that had passed through the great library's hallowed halls.
His finger, sheathed in a soft grey glove to protect the ancient vellum, traced a line of shimmering ink. "*…and the blue giant Syrax pulsed once, a heartbeat of pure aether that sustained the Western Reaches for a full turning…*"
High above, the vaulted ceiling was not made of stone, but of a flawless, enchanted crystal that showed the sky as it truly was: a breathtaking tapestry of swirling nebulae and countless, brilliant stars. Each one was a source of light, life, and magic for the world of Aetheria. This was the Grand Orrery, the heart of the Athenaeum, and Elian's world.
A soft chime echoed through the silence. The Alignment Bell. Elian sighed, closing the heavy tome. The Ceremony of Celestial Alignment was tonight, a spectacle for the nobility and the pious. For him, it was a mandatory interruption of his precious routine.
"Elian! You'll be late again, and the Master Curator will have your hide!" called a cheerful voice. Joran, an apprentice from the lower shelves, bounded around a corner, his robes flapping.
"The Master Curator's hide is far more concerned with impressing the Solar Guard than with my punctuality," Elian said, carefully shelving the book. His eyes, as always, flickered unconsciously to the southeastern quadrant of the crystal dome. To a patch of perfect, empty blackness.
It wasn't truly empty. He knew that. For ten years, since he first arrived at the Athenaeum as a scared, orphaned boy, he had seen it. A star that wasn't there. A pinprick of absolute dark that drank the light around it. His star. His secret.
No one else could see it. He'd learned that quickly. Mentions of it had earned him strange looks and tests from the Curators, tests he'd thankfully passed by learning to lie. They'd called it a childhood fancy, a trick of the eye. But he knew it was real. He could feel it, a cold, silent pull in his chest, a counterpoint to the warm, humming energy of the other stars.
"Come on," Joran said, pulling at his sleeve. "They say Captain Kaelen himself is leading the Guard detail. I want to get a good spot to see the Paladins in their polished gold!"
Elian allowed himself to be led. Captain Kaelen was the embodiment of the Solar Guard: rigid, unforgiving, and shining with the light of the sun-star, Solara. He represented everything Elian's hidden, dark star was not.
They emerged onto the main balcony overlooking the Grand Orrery. The place was already thronged with robed archivists and brightly dressed nobles. In the center of the chamber, the Master Curator was preening, ready to channel the aligned starlight into a display of power and piety.
And there, standing at rigid attention, was Captain Kaelen. His armor gleamed, and his face was a mask of stern duty. His eyes scanned the crowd, not with wonder, but with assessment, looking for threats to the perfect order he served.
The ceremony began. The Curator's voice boomed, chanting the old words. The light from the dome focused, beams of silver, blue, and gold converging on the central crystal. The air hummed with power. Elian felt the familiar warmth wash over him, the energy that every Aetherian drew strength from.
But he also felt the other pull. The cold, silent hunger from his unseen star.
As the crescendo approached, the light became almost blinding. The crowd gasped in unison. Elian's breath caught. The pull in his chest became a sharp, painful tug. He clenched his fists, trying to focus on the warmth, on the light, on being normal.
*Don't now. Not here. Not now,* he begged silently.
He looked up, directly at his patch of darkness.
And for the first time, it looked back.
A wave of cold, silent power slammed into him. It was a feeling of immense age, of endless, hungry void. The warm starlight around him felt suddenly thin and false. The humming in the air twisted into a screech only he could hear.
He stumbled, grabbing the balcony rail. His vision swam. The brilliant light of the ceremony seemed to dim, and for a terrifying second, all he could see was that single point of absolute dark, growing, pulsing, *rejoicing*.
A scream ripped from the crowd, but not from the ceremony. It was from outside.
The entire Athenaeum shuddered. A sound like the sky tearing in half crashed over them. Through the crystal dome, everyone saw it: a streak of violent, purple-black fire streaking across the heavens, heading for the distant horizon.
The Master Curator faltered, the beautiful lightshow sputtering and dying. The harmonious energy shattered into chaos.
In the sudden, deafening silence, every eye was on the sky. Every eye but Captain Kaelen's.
His gaze, sharp and merciless as a hawk's, had snapped directly to the source of the discord. To the young archivist clutching the railing, his face pale with a terror that looked far too much like guilt. To Elian.
Kaelen's hand went to the sun-hilt of his sword. His voice, cold and precise, cut through the panic.
"Seize him."