The day had not yet fully broken.
Vanhart Manor stood wrapped in a pale sheath of morning mist, its stone walls swallowing the faint echoes of movement within. The sky outside the high windows bore the dull steel of winter, clouds layered like old parchment, obscuring any hint of light beyond.
Inside the main hall, a low-burning brazier cast its steady glow across old banners and polished floors. The air smelled faintly of charcoal, wax, and distant frost.
Kel sat near the end of the long table, a few open ledgers spread in front of him. He was not reading them anymore—only letting his gaze pass over the ink, mind traveling elsewhere.
Reina stood by the far pillar, hands folded behind her back, watching the doorway with the stillness of a drawn bow. Her dark hair was tied in a low tail, frayed strands brushing the side of her face. She wore training leathers fitted to her frame, a faint trace of recent sparring lingering in the slight redness of her knuckles.
Landon wasn't present. He had gone to supervise drills with the Vanhart knights outside.
The hall was quiet.
Too quiet.
Until armored footsteps broke that silence.
A knight strode in, cloak dusted with thin snow, helm under one arm. His movements carried urgency, but also the distinctive discipline of one too long accustomed to hierarchy. He crossed the hall with firm steps, halted before Count Edward Vanhart, who had been discussing land figures with a steward near the hearth.
The knight bowed on one knee.
"Report," the count said simply.
The knight straightened halfway and spoke:
"Milord, the city's Temple of Stars has sent word. The annual awakening ceremony for trainees has begun preparations. Those who have reached fifteen years may attend for their first star awakening within three days' time."
The steward shifted beside him, surprise flickering across his lined features.
Kel's fingers stilled over the ledger.
Temple of Stars.
Awakening ceremony.
He slowly lifted his head.
The knight continued, not yet noticing the boy's quiet attention.
"They request confirmation of the names from Vanhart's training ranks who will participate this year. Our scribes have prepared the list. I await your approval before sending it to the city."
Edward nodded slowly, thoughtful.
"So it is that time already…" he murmured. "This year's batch…"
Reina, by the pillar, lowered her gaze for a moment.
Fifteen.
The knight went on, "Most have been prepared, milord. But there is one more candidate who qualifies by age and rank—Reina Asheville. Received from Rosenfeld household but currently listed under your tutelage."
Kel's eyes slid toward her.
She did not move.
Only the faint tightening of her shoulders betrayed that she was listening to every word.
The count considered.
Lips pursed.
Then, almost absently, Edward turned his head.
"Kel," he said, "you are the closest thing to her acting lord at the moment. You decide. Should she be included?"
The knight stiffened at the casual passing of authority to a thirteen-year-old.
Kel slowly closed the ledger in front of him.
The sound of paper meeting wood felt heavier than it should.
He rose from his chair, the hem of his dark coat brushing the floor with a soft, dragging whisper.
"Approach, knight," he said quietly.
The man obeyed without protest—unease flickering briefly in his eyes as he stepped closer into the sphere of Kel's presence. Up close, the boy's aura felt like snow that hid unfathomable depths beneath its surface.
Kel's gaze remained calm.
"Repeat," he said, "what you said of the ceremony."
The knight swallowed.
"In three days' time, the trainees of age fifteen will stand within the altar circle in the Temple of Stars, my lord. The eighty-eight constellation sigils will be invoked upon the altar's ring. The candidates stand in the center, close their eyes, and attune. Any constellation that answers their will appears in their inner vision. From those, they must choose one to bear as their first awakened star."
At the words eighty-eight constellations, Kel's eyes narrowed a fraction.
He had not forgotten.
In the game, the awakening system had been one of the foundational mechanics—limiting, binding destinies into predetermined pathways. But here, seeing it set in motion before him, in stone and ritual—
It felt heavier.
More… invasive.
As if the sky itself demanded a contract.
Kel's gaze flickered toward Reina.
She held her posture perfectly.
But her hands, hidden behind her back, were clenched so tightly that the tendons beneath the skin stood out like faint lines of white.
He studied her in silence for a few heartbeats.
Then turned fully to her.
"Reina," he called.
She stepped forward at once.
"Yes, Young Master."
Her steps were measured, boots quiet over stone. When she came to a stop a short distance away, she placed one hand over her chest and bowed lightly—not as a servant, not entirely as subordinate.
More as a knight addressing the one who had pulled her from the drowning line of fate.
The brazier flame cast gently shifting shadows over her face, highlighting the hard-earned sharpness of her jaw, the curve of tension at the corner of her lips.
Kel's eyes lingered on her.
"You're fifteen," he said.
It wasn't a question.
She nodded.
"Yes."
"You have not performed a star awakening yet."
"…No."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Were you preparing to?"
Reina's gaze shifted for the first time. Not away, but inward. Her lashes lowered, casting faint shadows down her cheeks.
"I was," she answered softly. "Before everything changed. Before you chose me as your knight."
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"I thought… I would carry the first awakening as a tool. Nothing more."
Kel regarded her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The knight knelt near them, head lowered, not daring to interrupt.
The count watched in silence.
The air in the hall seemed to thin.
Kel's voice came next, low, even.
"The ceremony is here. In the city. Under Vanhart's watch?"
"Yes," the knight replied. "The temple serves several northern branches, but Vanhart's name carries weight in this altar. The rites are old."
Kel nodded slowly.
He turned back to Reina.
"Reina."
"Yes, Young Master."
"If you participate in this awakening…" His eyes sharpened slightly. "Your path will shift. The world will expect you to move as a star-bearer, not just a sword. There will be eyes watching. Expectations. Chains wrapped in praise."
Her jaw flexed.
"I know."
"If I tell you not to go," he continued, voice softer, "will you obey?"
She did not answer immediately.
Silence stretched between them.
Then—
She dropped to one knee.
Head bowed.
Her hand once more touched her sternum, fingers curling as if gripping an invisible blade.
"If you wish that I do not awaken a star," she said quietly, "then I will not. I am your knight first. The sky is far. You… are here."
Something tightened at the edge of Kel's expression.
Just for a heartbeat.
Count Vanhart's eyes flickered in subtle surprise.
The knight looked stunned.
Reina kept her head bowed.
"I chose to follow you the moment you stepped between me and the world," she went on. "If you say I should remain unbound to the constellations, I will walk in darkness. If you say I should reach for a star…"
Her voice thinned.
"…then I will."
Kel's lashes lowered.
He watched the way her shoulders trembled—not from fear, but from the strain of offering her future so simply.
It stirred something inside him.
Not softness.
Not exactly.
Something like…
Responsibility sharpened into a blade.
He stepped closer.
"Raise your head," he said.
She obeyed.
Her eyes—dark, clear, unwavering—met his immediately.
He held her gaze with a quiet intensity.
"Sera has been unbound to a star all her life," he said calmly. "Rodrik chose a path outside the sky's order and fell."
Reina's lips parted a little, but she didn't speak.
Kel continued.
"You are not them."
His tone was absolute.
"You are not a mistake the world forgot. You are not a man chasing an imagined emptiness."
His gaze darkened, voice turning low.
"You are a blade I chose to stand beside me."
Her breath hitched.
He went on.
"You will not be less for taking a star. Nor will you be less for refusing it. But the world we are entering…" His eyes seemed to focus past her, beyond the walls. "…will move according to those lights, until I tear those constellations down myself."
The knight shifted uneasily.
The count's eyebrows rose a fraction.
But Kel's expression was tranquil as winter.
He lowered his voice further.
"So," he said, "until that time comes—"
He paused.
Then:
"Reina should awaken her star."
Reina's stare trembled.
Not with doubt.
With the force of her heartbeat hammering against a chest suddenly lighter.
Her lips parted.
"…If that is your will."
"It is," Kel said.
His tone left no room for misinterpretation.
"It will grant you more tools," he added. "Power. Recognition. Protection on paper. Even if I hate the system, I have no intention of handicapping your path for the sake of purity."
Something like a faint, twisted smile ghosted the corner of his mouth.
"Besides," he murmured, "I'm curious what kind of star will answer you."
The hall's air seemed to thicken.
Not with tension.
With expectation.
Reina bowed her head low again, shoulders tightening—not in submission, but in resolve.
"Then I will stand beneath the constellations," she said. "And choose one… under your name."
Kel exhaled slowly.
"Do not choose," he said, "for my name."
Her eyes lifted, startled.
"Choose," he continued, gaze steady, "for your own will. For who you are—before and after me. If a star does not fit you, do not take it, no matter how bright it shines."
The words were quiet.
But each one anchored deep.
Reina's throat moved as she swallowed.
Then, slowly, she smiled.
A small, fragile thing that did not reach her eyes fully—but showed the first shape of something new forming in them.
"Yes," she whispered.
Kel turned to the knight.
"Include Reina Asheville in the names," he ordered. "Inform the temple that she will participate in the awakening under Vanhart's branch authority."
The knight straightened at once.
"Yes, my lord!"
He glanced briefly between Kel and Reina—lingering on her kneeling form with a hint of respect rising where doubt once lived—then bowed to the count and left to fulfill his task.
The echo of his retreating steps faded.
Only the low crackle of the brazier remained.
Reina stayed on one knee.
Kel looked down at her for a moment longer.
Then said, more quietly:
"Stand, Reina."
She obeyed.
He could see, now that she was closer, the subtle tremor in her fingers. The air around her radiated a contained, almost sharp anticipation—like a blade moments before it met the whetstone.
"You have three days," he said. "Rest. Train. Not just your body."
He touched his temple lightly.
"Your mind. Your will. The altar doesn't only show who you are—it shows what you decide to be."
Reina nodded, seriously.
"I understand."
She stepped back, posture straightening, gaze no longer clouded.
Kel turned toward the count.
"Tomorrow," he said, "I want to see the awakening circle myself. The temple's arrangement. The sigil placements."
Edward studied him.
"You think to change something?"
Kel's lips curved faintly.
"No," he replied. "Not yet."
His eyes turned distant for a heartbeat.
"But it never hurts to know every stone… before you crack the sky."
The count said nothing to that.
Perhaps there was nothing safe to say.
Kel walked toward the hall exit, coat trailing quietly.
As he passed Reina, he did not look at her.
Yet as he drew close, he spoke in a tone only she could hear.
"Whatever star answers you…"
His eyes stayed ahead.
"…I will still be the one you answer first."
Reina's heart clenched.
She bowed her head deeply.
"Yes."
Kel left the hall, his footsteps receding into the corridor shadows.
Snow continued to fall outside.
And somewhere far above the clouds,
the constellations stirred—
unaware that one of the souls about to ask their favor walked beneath a boy who had already decided to defy them.