Astra sat alone in his chamber, the Starfinder turning gently in his fingers like a silent metronome. Outside, the eternal shadow that blanketed the skies of Shadowfall flickered with faint illusionary twilight—an echo of the stars far beyond. Yet despite the smothering dark, Astra's eyes were distant, fixed on the map of constellations displayed within the device's many mirrors and lenses.
He traced a familiar pattern with his eyes the Stargazer. Apparently, The tale of the star that watched all, yet never spoke. A myth, or maybe something more, an angel who made this artifact, astra had scoured the archives searching for records of him, but he could barley find any with his access.
As the minutes passed, something strange stirred in him. A flicker, not in his mind or heart, but somewhere deeper, older—a pull. A thread.
No… a tether.
It was imperceptible—so faint it could've been imagined. And yet he knew it was real. As if, across the vastness of the cosmos, something called to him. Not loudly. Not clearly. But insistently. Patiently. One star in particular flickered—just slightly brighter than the others. He narrowed his eyes.
"Could it be… my star, manifested in the night sky, it's possible sure, but im merely a rank two..." he murmured. Then frowned. "No. All the stars are mine anyways. My affinity is too high. I…" He stopped himself. "Strange." he seemed to remember that one star that pulsed out in the deep desert.
Before he could linger in the mystery, a knock interrupted the silence. A servant—cloaked in black, eyes marked with the sigil of House Shadow—bowed low.
"The Lords of House Shadow summon you, My lord Astra of Night."
The stars faded from his thoughts. For now.
Astra dismissed the star finder back into his coin, his soul.
The servant led him in silence through the Keep's labyrinthine halls. It was not lost on Astra that the servant was Rank Three. Even the attendants here carried power. As they reached the central spire, they arrived at one of the Keep's mana lifts.
Astra stepped onto the platform—and marveled again.
The mana lift was a marvel of ancient arcano-engineering: a circular dais of obsidian, inlaid with shimmering veins of gold and silver mana channels. Runes spun slowly in orbit around the base, and when activated, they flared to life with soft violet-blue light. A gentle hum surrounded him as they rose—not violently, but smoothly, as if gliding on invisible water.
They passed layer upon layer of the great Keep—each level unique. Training arenas, libraries of forbidden lore, sanctums of prayer, halls filled with paintings of shadows and memory. From above, the Keep seemed like a tower of worlds stacked one atop the other.
Astra stared, mind churning. He knew this wasn't a courtesy. This was power politics. And he wasn't a fool.
House Shadow might speak of failsafes left by House Night, but how convenient was it to say that? The truth could be lost in myth, twisted by centuries of silence. Astra believed the harbinger of twisted truths strange words more than most; the devil had no reason to lie in that moment.
But still… something had to be true.
Even if his house had failsafes… why resurrect a nearly dead line with a mere Rank Two heir? Why now? Why him?
He needed more than whispers. He needed loyal, powerful allies. People not loyal to House Shadow, but to House Night. To him.
And worst of all… he didn't even know if House Night deserved revival.
He had heard the rumors. The whispers.
Some were surely propaganda. But others… others were said with fear. Even a devil had dared to call his bloodline despicable. Had they committed a sin against the heavens? Or worse—uncovered something?
By the time the lift reached the summit, Astra's thoughts had sharpened into steel.
The doors opened into a vast terrace garden—a strange and beautiful contradiction perched atop the Keep. Nightflowersbloomed in silence, their petals a deep violet laced with glimmering silver veins. Shadowflowers shifted slightly when one walked past, as if watching with unseen eyes.
The mana in the air strangely shimmered as it phased sometimes shadow wisp's falling like ash from the sky.
Great trees stood like silent guardians. Some had black leaves upon white bark. Others Dark as the abyss crowned in gold, their leaves shining against the dark bark. The wind here carried a strange music—not sound, but presence.
And in the spaces between… shadows watched. Ancient. Proud. Divine.
They bent slightly in Astra's presence, as if acknowledging him.
He looked up at the veiled sky above—no stars visible. And yet…
"Yep. Angels are definitely here," he muttered under his breath.
The servant bowed once more at the threshold.
"My holy angels await," he said, then retreated like a shadow fading from the sun.
Astra took a breath. Then stepped into the garden of judgment.
The courtyard garden was still. Astra stood before a vast gazebo-like structure, sprawling and open-air, yet impossibly tall. Obsidian arches twisted like frozen smoke, inlaid with shimmering filigree of silver and black glass. The roof formed a star-shaped dome, layered in desert sandstone and ash-marble, glinting faintly with celestial etchings — glyphs that whispered in the language of forgotten gods.
The very air pulsed with reverent divinity. Shadow and mana swirled together in harmony, folding toward the structure like pilgrims to a shrine.
Astra swallowed.
His breath fogged lightly despite the warm air. It wasn't cold. It was mana density — this entire place was steeped in it, older than names, older than laws. His skin prickled as he stepped closer. The blessing of curiosity flared behind his eyes, illuminating the veins of ambient mana as living diagrams. This place breathed with will.
At the far end of the structure, under the star-roof's apex, lay a long crescent table of dark crystal and shadowglass. Around it sat six figures — angels — lounging like immortal tyrants at rest.
They sat like old gods — aloof, divine, unmistakably alive.
The air fell silent.The table dimmed as if the very concept of light was cautioned into stillness.Even the angels, scattered like forgotten crowns across the circular lounge, ceased their idle sipping.
They didn't rise. They simply watched.
Astra stood at the threshold of something greater than myth. He could feel it—divinity, coiled and patient, dressed in shadow and breathless depth. These weren't people. These were lesser gods, rank sixes, divine lords.
And one by one, their attention cut toward him like the slow draw of an executioner's blade.
The first to speak had skin kissed by firelight, not warm, but ritualistic—tattooed in brands that shimmered like living coal. His presence wasn't hot. It was inevitable.
He leaned forward with one hand against his cheek, lazy and regal, voice like a furnace humming beneath cold iron.
"hmm strange you carry weight for someone so untempered. That core of yours… it howls."
A pause.
"I could refine it. Strip the weakness. Leave only what the flame accepts."
He raised his teacup. The tea boiled without flame.
"I am Seraphaen Kael, The Pyrebound Sovereign."
No dramatics. No grin. Only authority, ancient and absolute.
Ripples followed. Not in air.In reality.
The next angel rose like mist from ocean stone—robes flowing like water beneath moonlight. His hair hung like riverweed , and his skin glistened faintly with tiny scales, though nothing touched him.
He studied Astra with a mournful amusement, eyes like drowned cities.
"He struggles. Tries to swim… while wearing chains. But maybe that's what keeps him interesting."
His voice was calm, like tide against stone. But it cracked with undersea pressure behind it.
"Nymurei Vire. Tidelord of the Drowned Veins."
He gave a half-smile that never reached his eyes.
A shift. Something colder. Older.
The next didn't stand—he didn't need to. The room had already begun to wilt in his presence. A lantern floated beside him, its glass stained by something older than light, casting no shadow at all.
He looked at Astra not with judgment — but with recording stillness. A scribe. A witness. A walking mausoleum.
"You've walked through graves without ever noticing the names."
His voice was quiet. Absolute.A lullaby for things that should not be remembered.
"Kaldrith Nocturne, Bearer of the Last Echos."
A chill slid down Astra's spine, and he was sure… the dead stirred.
A breeze stirred that wasn't wind.
She reclined, eyes shut, veils drifting around her like falling leaves from a tree that had never grown. The world around her seemed softer — not because it welcomed you, but because it wanted you to sleep and never wake.
And somehow, she was everywhere in the room now, without moving.
"He dreams of running," she murmured."But the ground is made of faces. How curious."
She yawned, the sound like silk tearing in a quiet library.
"Elyvaire. Lady of the Hollow Veil. "
When she opened her eyes — Astra felt himself almost forget who he was.
Then came laughter.
Not mirthful.
Not cruel.
Just... amused.
He leaned lazily against the edge of the table, skin pale as bleached bone, long fingers stained red with what could have been ink or blood. He wore no armor, but Astra was certain his presence was a curse given shape.
"He collects guilt like a miser hoards coin," the man mused."Tell me, boy… how many did you leave behind to climb this far?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
"Saelir. Cursewright of the Thirsting Word."
He smiled again — and a sigil flickered in the corner of Astra's vision, as if branded onto his soul.
Then — silence.
And finally, movement.
A figure stepped out from behind Astra, though he hadn't heard footsteps. Shadow shifted not as absence, but as intent. The man who emerged was draped in layers of black silk that shimmered like starlight drowned in ink.
And the world made room for him.
Not with fear.
With reverence.
Veylith Umbra. The head of House Shadow.
He passed Astra with the quiet grace of something built for elegance and annihilation, gesturing toward a plush shadow-couch with a flick of his wrist.
A black-gloved hand of mana lifted a silver kettle and poured dark tea into a waiting cup — steam rising like incense in a temple. The mana was alive, but perfect — sculpted, divine, Rank Six in raw, whispered dominance.
Veylith's voice was soft.
"Tea?"
He could see it — the inner workings of the shadow hand. The mana-weaving at its joints. The substructure of sixfold layered mana threads, bending space itself with effortless loops of will.
A mere hand.
And it was more elegant than entire realms of magic he'd seen.
"I don't drink tea," Astra said finally, voice low.
A moment of silence.
Then the barest twitch of Veylith's lips. Not quite a smile. Amusement? Annoyance?. Approval, maybe. Or interest.
Veylith didn't press. He gestured, and the cup of tea folded back into shadow, as if it had never existed.
"You've been watching the stars again," the head of House Shadow murmured. "I can smell the starlight in your thoughts."
"what a terrible pun" Astra thought
Veylith sat, finally, and his presence alone filled the chamber.
He regarded Astra with unreadable calm.
Then smiled — a flicker of warmth beneath a cathedral of shadow.
Astra remained standing.
"I received your summons."
A ripple of soft laughter from Elyvaire, the Lady of the Hollow Veil. "He thinks this was a summons," she whispered to no one. "So young. So still… shaped."
Seraphaen Kael didn't laugh. His gaze cut through Astra like forgefire through glass.
"You carry the blood of House Night. You've passed the multiple challenges, a mythical core even. And yet…"
His eyes narrowed, and for the first time, Astra felt heat—not temperature, but pressure. A demand for truth.
"You remain unclaimed by power."
Nymurei Vire's voice rose like a tide behind him. "Perhaps he resists. Perhaps he doubts what he is. What he could become."
Kaldrith's lantern flickered once. A ghostly sigh escaped from the flame. "Or perhaps he fears it. Some do. The blood remembers, even if the mind forgets."
Veylith raised a single hand, and all fell still.
"You are not here for judgment," he said. "Not today."
"You are here… for clarity."
The air shifted. Something tightened around the world.
A sigil burned above the crescent table — vast, celestial, and complex beyond reason. Lines of mana, string, and shadow weaved into a symbol older than language, pulsing with the rhythm of a dying star.
Veylith spoke again.
"You seek to understand why you were called from dust. Why House Night, dead and buried, has been whispered back into being. Why the stars bend slightly when you walk. Why that cursed devil watches you and laughs."
He stepped forward once, the space around him folding like paper.
"It is not your right to know. It is your burden."
Astra stared as his curiosity stirred, he had always wondered, just why his blood was so bad, why a devil of pinnacle tier caliber dared to call him despicable.
Then, slowly, he nodded. "Then give me the weight."
Saelir grinned, teeth too white.
"You already carry it, little heir."
Kaldrith's lantern pulsed.
Veylith's voice deepened. "But to shape it… you must choose. Do you remain their piece?"
He gestured to the angels seated around him.
"Or do you become a player?"
Astra said nothing.
But inside, something shifted.
The thread… the tether… pulled tighter.
And somewhere in the garden, a single nightflower bloomed — black petals edged in starlight.
The mark of something awakened.
"Very well," Veylith said at last, his voice low."You must know the truth. Of your peculiar lineage. And the war that never ended."
The angels around them were still yet the mana around the room froze, as if terrified to even move.
He continued.
"Long before Duskfall's spires or the black vaults of Shadowkeep… before even the Realms split apart, there was Paradis.
a garden of eden, it housed the goddess of life.
Forests that could whisper prophecies. Rivers that glowed with the light of the First Flame. Skies so wide they swallowed time. It was… perfect.
And perfection is the greatest enemy of the gods.
For what does a god do in paradise, except grow hungry for more?"
"It began with curiosity.
The Goddess of Life, grew restless. Growth without struggle is stagnation, she whispered.
And so she sought her opposite—not to kill him, but to understand him.
She found him: The God of Death. Cold. Absolute. Beautiful in silence.
For a time, they danced. Life and Death. Birth and Burial.
But understanding gave way to control. And so came war.
The forests burned. The rivers boiled. The light of the First Flame turned to ash. Paradis died.
And from its corpse was born Sahahra—our homeland. A cracked husk of a world, still haunted by the memory of that garden."
"But that was not the true sin.
The true sin was his."
Veylith's voice quieted. The wind fell still. Even the angels leaned in.
"Noctis. The God of Night. Of stars, of gravity, of change, of the void between moments of space.
He watched it all from afar. Not Life. Not Death. Not War. Just silence.
But when he looked upon Umbra, something stirred in him.
She—Umbra—was everything he was not. She was shadow and mystery. Dream and mischief. Soul and silence.
She did not seek power. She guarded secrets.
She did not join the war. She mourned it.
And so the two did not fight… they simply saw one another.
From that sight came House Night—your bloodline. Born of night and dream, weight and whisper, shadow and star.
But even love is not safe from ambition."
"No body knew what noctis was thinking or what his motives were"
Yet he made a pact. With powers no god had touched.
None know who he bargained with. Forgotten gods? The primordial Will, The Threads beyond creation maybe even mana it self?
Only this is known:The pact was unholy wicked, nefarious. And it worked.
The war erupted the realms fractured.
And the gods fell."
"After the pact, the divine clashed in many factions, the gods, angels, pantheons and lesser gods even this you can study and I expect you will. However with it came their ends, real ends, no resurrections, no rebirth no tricks.
Veylith almost shuddered.
It's ironic really, the gods resented the god of death for creating death, yet In the end he claimed all, including himself.
Veylith sighed
"All the gods fought, and all disappeared. no one really has access to this information, even the mana. network founded by the Seraph Ida, censors this knowledge, it is put off as a mere mystery of the world, Perhaps the missing sections of The Tales of Atlas house the full story, perhaps not"
So now only whispers remain.
Not even the Seraphim recall the price that was paid. Only that it tore the Realms apart, and the Fracture became permanent.
Six great wars have followed, each worse than the last. Where houses rose and fell, throughout the eras and eons, many have ascended and many have descended in the realm of mana.
And now…"
Veylith looked to the sky. The stars pulsed—brighter now. Bleeding.
"…the Seventh Fracture War approaches."
Astra connected the dots, all the mysteries and implications unfolding in his head.
Veylith spoke again his gaze meeting Astra "You, Astra, are of House Night.
Divine and pure through Umbra, Unholy and Profane through Noctis. The one who broke the world with a single vow.
Your house eradicated for this very reason.
You carry his weight. And hers.
Shadow and Star. Sin and Secret.
Veylith's voice faded.
"Anyways, this war will not begin with cataclysms," he said softly."Not yet."
He paced slowly, as shadows bent in ways Astra couldn't even comprehend around him.
"There will be no shattered skies. No continents cleaved. Not in this opening act.""The world believes war means armies. Banners. Rank Sixes screaming across the heavens."
His gaze met Astra's.
"But that is not how this begins."
A hush.
"Not truly."
He raised a single finger, as if plucking a thread from the air.
"This war begins in whispers. In duels fought under false names. In assassinations disguised as duels. In Rank Threes who bleed for show. In Rank Fours who clash… just enough to let the realms taste what's coming.""We are all feeling for pressure points. Measuring who remembers how to kill."
He stopped before Astra.
"The real war comes later—when the scales tip."
Astra narrowed his eyes, voice low and sharp.
"What scales?"
A flicker passed across Veylith's lips — not quite a smile. Not quite regret. Perhaps both.
"I can't tell you," he said.
He placed a hand on Astra's shoulder, firm and cold as carved obsidian.
Astra felt nothing as if a mountain has placed its hand on him. it was a really strange feeling.
"Not yet."
"But you must grow, Astra. Stronger than you've ever imagined. Stronger than your pain. Than your doubts. Than your blood."
The shadows deepened.
"House Shadow will support you."
Around him, the angels remained still, but not silent. Their presence murmured assent without speaking.
"As Umbra once supported Noctis, I-we will now support you. Because our concepts… align."
He stepped back, eyes glinting like knives dipped in night.
"And because the stronger you become, the more power we gain through Mana."
"You must understand something, Astra — Mana is not a neutral force."
The angels shifted at that word. Seraneth looked away. Mirelle tilted her head.
"It favors."
"It weighs."
"It tips scales."
Veylith extended both hands, mimicking balance.
"Mana flows toward the dominant narrative — the winning concept. Not the loudest. Not the brightest. The most evolved."
"The Seraphs rule not just through power… but through the stories they make real."
He turned his hand over. A single drop of silvery water hovered above his palm.
"This is why water rules Wai. It flows, it yields, and yet it carves through mountains. The angels of that realm embody dominance through fluidity. Change. Absorption., you can apply this to all the realms"
"Conceptual supremacy.""Mana listens to it."
The drop vanished.
"All magic is shaped not just by core or element… but by the world's favor."
"When the angels of Wai dominate politically or spiritually, water magic becomes stronger. Easier to use. More naturally blessed. And vice versa."
Astra's breath caught. He looked up at the angels again — Seraneth, Mirelle, Kaelthas — each of them lords not of land, but of ideas.
"So this is my position," he said, almost to himself.
Veylith nodded.
"You are a convergence point. A thread pulled taut between Houses, between truths. Between the world that was… and the one trying to be born."
He leaned in, just enough for his voice to drop like a weight:
"The more you ascend, the more we gain. The stronger your narrative becomes, the more Mana listens. The more House Shadow is favored. We rise as you do."
"That is why you are ours."
"That is why we will arm you, teach you, shelter you."
"Because when the Seventh War truly begins, you won't just be a player…"
"You will be part of the scale itself."
Astra smiled.
It wasn't forced or bitter, not the sharp grin he wore in alleys or courts. No—this was quiet. Almost… reverent.
A realization stirred behind his eyes. A mere thought.Subtle.But it cut deeper than any blade ever had.
So this was the reason.
Not just bloodline.Not just prophecy.Not just madness whispered by the stars.
I represent the night. The shadow. The forgotten skies no one worships anymore.I am the concept of what hides behind the light.And the stronger I become… the stronger Shadow becomes.
Umbra's lineage wasn't a metaphor. It was foundation. The weight of history and myth bleeding into mana.The angels didn't help him just because of politics or oaths.
They help me because my rise shifts the scales.Conceptually. Fundamentally. Through Mana's will itself.
Stars and shadows. Night and veil.They were winning… through him.
This war won't be decided by armies. Not at first. It will be decided by who becomes the better story.
He exhaled, slowly, like he was finally breathing air meant for him.
I used to cry to the violet skies of Duskfall, he thought, eyes softening. Told myself I was meant for more. That one day, I'd matter. Even if no one remembered me.
Now I see why I survived. Why I never broke.It was never just survival. It was always evolution.
He looked at the angels now—each a figure of terrifying grace, watching him like he might split the world by accident. And for the first time, he wasn't afraid.
A smile lingered on his lips, a quiet blade in the dark.
Then he spoke aloud.
"So tell me…"
"How long do I have?"
Veylith gave a faint, amused sigh, his eyes half-lidded beneath the shimmer of endless dusk.
"Well," he said, voice like a distant tide brushing a forgotten shore, "I'd say not long… but for you mortals, time is elastic."
He waved a languid hand through the air, fingers trailing starlight.
"It could be a decade. Five years. Perhaps more. Perhaps less. It all depends on the battles."
His wings unfurled slightly—not in threat, but in presence.
"We angels won't simply idle. We have our plans. Our schemes. Our counterplays. Just recently, your devil clashed with a dusk angel over Duskfall."
Astra remembered that he did in fact see this, a terrifying memory.
"No one noticed. No mortals, at least. But their battle happened. Subtle. Quiet. The Dusk Angel barely made it out alive from what I saw. Then again…" he shrugged, "…they're schemers. Maybe it was a performance. Maybe they're partners. Who can say?"
He stepped closer, tone dropping like a blade in water.
"Angels fight. Devils fight. Saints fight. Always have. You mortals just don't hear about it. Or when you do, it's censored. Altered. Twisted into myths or made to vanish in a single rewritten report."
He looked Astra in the eye now. No jest. No riddles. Just quiet, solemn truth.
"That's why I'm telling you this."
A pause. Even the shadows around them hushed.
"You never know what might happen, Astra. Tomorrow, a host of angels could surround Shadowkeep. Lay siege to House Shadow. Kill us all. End the war before it begins."
He let that hang.
"I'm not saying it will. But in Fracture Wars… it has. Many times."
A beat passed, heavy.
"Yes, we have measures. We have protections. Wards. Contingencies. Alliances"
His gaze sharpened.
"But my point is: those are the stakes. Prepare for the worst. Always. Anything that can happen-will—happen."
Astra nodded, his face grave.
But in the back of his mind, a small ember of relief flickered.They hadn't noticed. Not even the angels.
Starfinder, the artifact hidden in his soul , still eluded their perception.Damn... whoever crafted that thing—he was a true master.His ace-in-the-sleeve. His lifeline.
Still, Astra bowed low, sincere and solemn.
"Very well, my angels. I shall continue to grow. In power. In purpose. And I pray for your support."
The seven angels responded in unison, their voices layered with impossible harmony:
"It is a pleasure."
Mirelle's veil shimmered with hidden delight. Kaelthas merely nodded. Seraneth smiled with something almost like nostalgia.
"We will most likely not see you again," Seraneth said softly, "not for a while. Perhaps not until your ascension."
"Now go," murmured Kaelthas. "Shine, oh little star."
"You are a harbinger," Mirelle added, her voice a breeze through a dying dream. "A symbol for the younger generation. You and that abominable creature, Aster. And I'm sure others shall rise to rival you."
"Use that pressure," Veylith said, taking one final step back into the inked veil of Shadow. "Use it. Grow. Evolve."
He sighed, almost wistfully.
"I miss seeing Star magic."
Astra blinked as deep ancient shadows surrounded him then suddenly he was back in his room, away from the beautiful garden terrace.
"He could have teleported me this whole time? what theatrics"