Astra stood before the looming estate of Odinson Steel, its ancient stones steeped in a silence that felt alive. The air itself pulsed with forgotten power, a resonance older than kingdoms, as though the walls whispered of bloodlines buried and secrets time itself had tried—and failed—to erase.
He slipped into a shadowed alcove, far from curious eyes, his thoughts spiraling in fevered whirlwinds. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat echoing the suffocating weight of destiny pressing in around him. Who he was—who he could become—it was almost too vast to grasp, a storm too large for a single soul to bear.
"Royalty… Godhood." The words left his lips as a hushed oath, bitter and intoxicating all at once. They felt foreign, yet natural, as though he had always known but never dared to speak them aloud. A strange yearning knotted in his chest, twisting tighter with every breath.
For years, he had carried the burden of being an outsider, a shadow scorned and cast aside. But now the veil was torn away, and cruel clarity revealed itself: he was no forgotten wretch. His veins carried divine descent, a bloodline written in darkness and power.
A king among mortals—yet no crown would sit upon his brow. No throne waited at the end of this path. Instead, he bore a legacy carved in shadow, a price already stained in blood.
And yet, his lips curled faintly. Well… to be precise, I was crowned—and not by mortals, but by godhood itself.
The fragments of his past, the pain of his present, and the terrifying promise of his future collided, forming a picture both cursed and breathtaking. The darkness called to him—not as a stranger, but as its rightful heir. And Astra, trembling yet unbroken, was ready to answer.
Two fates lay before him: to rise in power, to seize his birthright as Prince of Stars and Lord of Shadows… or to die broken and hunted, his bloodline extinguished in some nameless ditch, his house erased forever from memory.
His hand shook as it reached for the coin. The instant his fingers brushed its cold surface, it was as though the world shattered. A flood of memory, knowledge, and hidden truths roared into him, a deluge that threatened to drown his very sense of self.
The world dulled into shadow, until only Astra remained—him and the coin, suspended in a silence that felt eternal. Everything else—the estate, Odin's words, even the sky—faded into nothing. Only the coin mattered now.
The transformation was undeniable.
The Pawn—once a pitiful trinket, dull and copper-green, a reflection of the gutter boy who bore it—was reborn. It gleamed with an ethereal sheen now, a surface that drank in the light yet shimmered with something greater than metal. On one face, the dagger remained, sharp and uncompromising. But the other…
The reverse was no longer blank bronze. It had become a cosmos in miniature—an abyssal sky scattered with diamond-bright specks. A galaxy trapped within a coin, the void itself made tangible.
Astra's breath caught. Imperial Pawn. That was its name now. No longer a tool, no longer a token. It pulsed with vitality, as if alive. As if it recognized him.
He rolled it in his hand, feeling the weight of the inscription etched in silver flame across its star-strewn face:
"Forged in Night. Crowned by Stars."
The words seared themselves into his mind, a vow, a coronation, a curse. And yet, instead of fear, something else welled within him. A deep, secret satisfaction. He smirked, unable to help himself.
It knew me. All this time, it knew me.
The coin's presence coiled deeper, threading into his soul like a dark tether. It wasn't foreign—it was him. A mirror of the hunger that had always burned quietly in the marrow of his bones. For once, the shadows did not make him feel small. They exalted him.
His heart quickened, his veins thrummed. Power coursed through him not like a borrowed flame, but like a birthright finally reclaimed.
Astra let his eyes slip shut, sinking inward, and the familiar veil parted. His status screen surfaced before him. But it wasn't the same crude slate of text it had once been. No—this was alive, breathing, a shifting constellation of runes and whispers. It mirrored the changes etched into his soul, showing his growth in real time, as though the universe itself now acknowledged him.
He opened his eyes again with a steady breath.
He was no longer the boy who walked into the forge.
His domain had changed.
No longer was it the dim, fractured mirror of his mind. It pulsed now with a life of its own—a living kingdom carved from shadow, breathing with the rhythm of his will. Vast fields of darkness stretched outward, crowned faintly by constellations that glittered above, while rivers of smoke-like shadow coiled at his feet. He stood at its heart, faintly crowned by stars, cloaked in drifting wisps of living night.
The connection to the Imperial Pawn was no longer symbolic. It was absolute.
It had become his anchor to the void, a bridge to the unreachable heavens. His key. His tether. His claim to the cosmos themselves.
Astra's grip tightened around the coin, and its pulse matched his own heartbeat. It thrummed against his skin, not cold, not warm, but alive—an extension of his flesh, his soul, his hunger.
He could feel it now, its quiet enormity. The subtle gravity of its promise. Not a weapon, not an artifact. Him.
When Astra's violet eyes opened once more, the world itself seemed to recoil. The shadows thickened in the corners of the room, the air congealed, heavy with the hush of unseen power. The Pawn had awakened something ancient within him, something his body could barely contain. Something deeper than mortal ambition.
A presence. A mantle. A truth.
It whispered that he was more than a survivor. He was chosen. He was marked. He was becoming.
And then, as though the heavens themselves were inscribing it, the truth etched itself across his vision:
[Astra Noctis]Heir of House Night, Lord of Shadows, Prince of the Stars
[Rank One] – Pawn[Mana Core] – One (Two Connected)[Godhood] – Crown of Stars, Cloak of Secrecy(Further insight locked: ascension required)
[Affinities] Star(S) Shadow(S) Water(A) (Light)B Fire(C) Earth(E) Wind(E)
[True Mana Affinities] – Shadow, Star
The words shimmered like a cosmic decree, shifting in and out of focus, half-whisper, half-omen.
Astra's lips curved faintly. He liked the way it felt—weighty, dangerous, intoxicating. For the first time in his life, the world itself acknowledged him. Not as a rat, not as a beggar, not as prey.
But as something else.
"Wow. Lord and Prince." Astra let out a low breath, eyes narrowing as he scrolled through his status. "That's… new. And sick."
The titles shimmered before him, alien yet intimate, like half-forgotten names finally called back to memory. But beyond the shine, there was no explosion of newfound strength. Nothing overwhelming. Just subtle shifts, quiet confirmations of what he had already begun to feel.
Still, one detail gnawed at him: the familiar presence of water was gone. Stripped away. His true mana was only shadowand star now.
He reminded himself what Odin had warned: second godhood artifacts were connected, not claimed. Until he climbed higher, their truths would remain veiled. The thought made him sigh, a tight weight settling in his chest. I need to grow stronger. That's the only way forward.
He shifted his focus inward, to the foundation of everything—his true mana.
True mana wasn't simply energy; it was essence. The current that ran deepest in a mage's veins, the affinity that defined their very existence. You could wield other kinds of mana, yes, but it was always a borrowed language, an accent that gave you away.
A boxer can learn to grapple, Astra thought, his lips quirking into a wry grin, but no matter how many times he steps on the mat, he's still a boxer. His stance, his instincts, his philosophy—they betray him. He'll never move like someone born for it.
So it was with mana.
He chuckled darkly, the sound low and bitter. It's like being built to swing a warhammer and then insisting on fighting with a cheap little short sword. Sure, it's quick. Sure, it's clever. But why choose scraps when your bones were forged for ruin? Why settle for less when the night itself is begging to be wielded?
Astra ran a hand through his curls, the gesture half nervous, half grounding, as if to steady the storm brewing in his chest. The truth was undeniable now: his potential wasn't a thing to hide or ration. It demanded to be embraced.
The stars burned in his veins. The shadows stirred at his feet.
And for the first time, he didn't feel like prey. He felt like a contender.
A grim smile curved across his lips. No more wasting potential.
The thought carried him further, tugging at some deep, instinctual memory—something Odin had only brushed against, something his coin had whispered of in fractured fragments.
The Archives of Night.
A treasury of knowledge older than kingdoms, hidden within his bloodline's legacy. A place where secrets of shadow and starlight lay chained, waiting to be claimed by those bold—or mad—enough to reach for them.
And Astra knew, with a strange and hungry certainty, that his path would soon lead him there.
[Archives]
[Records][Mana][Locations][Paths][Artifacts][Messages][Church of Night]
Hmm the church has a tab but it's inaccessible.
Astra's eyes moved without hesitation. "Mana."
He felt it immediately—something within the coin pulsing, an unseen hand brushing against the edge of his consciousness, guiding him deeper.
But before the menu could fully load, a low, resonant hum tore through his mind. It was followed by a jagged whisper—language stripped bare, more primal than words, older than thought itself.
[Warning: Access Restricted – Contingency Mode Active]Coin functionality limited due to insufficient Rank.Certain knowledge, archives, paths, and spell functions sealed by Contingency Protocol.Full inheritance is locked. To receive greater knowledge and dominion, Rank must increase. Mana will be transmitted as Rank increases.
Astra's body jerked violently, as though plunged into glacial waters. His breath caught, chest tightening as alien sensation poured into him. It wasn't pain. It wasn't even thought.
It was instinct.
Spells did not reveal themselves. They brushed against him.Not manuals.Not teachings.Not even full memories.
But impressions—faint outlines, blurred diagrams, half-remembered sensations that felt like the afterimage of someone else's mastery. Pages torn from forgotten tomes not in whole, but as drifting echoes. Fragments of black-bound grimoires that should've cost kingdoms or lain buried in noble vaults. And yet they flickered inside him as if he had once known them, once read them, and only now was remembering the shape of remembering.
His skull throbbed with sigils that refused to fully form, diagrams that dissolved if he focused too sharply, battlefield notations scrawled by long-dead warlocks but smudged as though seen through fog.
Aha… so this is how the coin circumvents the cost of knowledge, Astra thought, lips curling in a humorless smirk. Not mastery. Not technique. But impressions. Echoes. Enough to guide instinct but not enough to wield without work.
Spellbooks embedded into mana itself.Not discovered, not bought.
Inherited.Forced into the marrow—but only as shadows of what they truly were.
And yet the moment the torrent of half-knowledge stilled, he understood the gulf between what he had received and what he still lacked.
Knowledge was power—but impressions were maps, not roads.
Knowing the idea of a spell meant nothing if his intent faltered, if his hands trembled, if an enemy's blade struck faster. The impressions were guidance—nothing more.
So this was the nobles' advantage. Not finished spells. Not complete mastery.
Vague instincts. Hints. Starting points.Enough to save years of trial and error.Enough to give Astra—after a lifetime at the bottom—a bottle-cap sized but significant edge.
So this is how the old bloodlines passed spells… through the coin. Through mana itself.
Across the Realms, men and women ruined their lives to purchase a single spellbook. Guilds hoarded them. Noble houses auctioned them. Lone mages bled years away in trial and error, forcing mana into submission until it finally obeyed.
He had simply… received whispers.Not techniques—but the ghosts of techniques.
The words were not spoken. They crawled down his spine, whispering into his marrow, as though his very blood had remembered something half-forgotten.
His body stiffened, jaw locking, as an invisible weight pressed against his skull. He drew in a ragged breath.
Interesting… So my ancestors, in their fall, sealed their knowledge, their systems, their wealth of secrets. It makes sense. If gods had glimpsed the inheritance of House Night—secrets interwoven with the church, with even the Seraphs themselves—it might have spelled annihilation.
Better then, that the ruins of my house held their tongues. Better that they sealed it all, waiting for a scion to rise. Following a plan across centuries…
Astra's lips twitched, the faintest shadow of comfort flickering through him.
It means I am not completely alone after all.
And then—
Blinking hard, he steadied himself, forcing his breathing calm. The coin's interface reformed in his vision, not through deliberate navigation, but as though molded by the pull of his desires.
[Mana][Access granted][Star] [Shadow]
Other mana types flickered in the corners of his vision—Blood, Dream, Void, Mass… But something pulled him toward Star, and Shadow.
He had access to them after all.
The coin throbbed with subtle warmth at his choice.
[Star]Rank 1 – 7
Astra's breath caught in his throat.
"Rank… seven?" This was insane.
He reached for it—an instinctive lunge toward something far beyond reach.
[Access Denied – Rank 6 Required for Tier 7 Access]
Expected. Still bitter.
He scrolled to Rank One and Rank Two, and the coin responded. Not with text, but with sensation.
A pulse, a whisper, a mirrored rhythm in his veins.The knowledge was not shown.It was half-glimpsed, half-felt.
Each spell became a truth remembered vaguely.Not a manual—a dream too faint to fully hold.
[Rank One]
[Warning]These spells are not fixed instructions. They are reference echoes—concepts to be bent and rewritten through personal control and form. Every caster expresses star magic differently. These are fragments of others' instincts—borrowed, not owned. Find your own style lest you become average and obsolete.
Nova Flash was a flare: the brief, violent death of a star—felt only as a memory of brightness, the sensation of blinding rather than the technique. A scream of light with no clear shape.
Stardust Veil suggested bending light—only the idea of it—like recalling a trick seen in passing, fragile and incomplete.
Celestial Bolt came as the sensation of pressure and release, a shard of intent rather than an actual spell. Its form eluded him, but the feeling of pure focus lingered.
Stellar Flock emerged as whimsy—shapes of light imagined but undefined, silhouettes that dissolved before fully forming.
Astral Step was a flash of disorientation, a moment of surrender. He sensed the gap between points but could not articulate the method.
Starlight Shard flickered as the concept of a blade—not its forging, not its use—just the belief of cutting made manifest for a heartbeat.
[Requirements to Wield Star Mana]
The stars do not bow.One must first find the inner star—the fragment of heaven buried in the soul.
This refinement must be done alone, without aid, without guide.
Only when your spirit resonates with the celestial will shall you be granted access to Celestial Mana—a divine energy not born on this realm.
It cannot be found.Only earned.
Astra's mind reeled.Not from confusion—from clarity.
It seems I have a ritual required for my mana. Damn… only powerful and unique mana types require such performances. I really am blessed.
His heart pounded.
Cold. Hollow.Unworthy.
The stars weren't distant because he hadn't tried.They were distant because they had judged him—and found him lacking.
He had always been clawing at the sky with broken fingers, begging for light with no flame of his own.
But still…
the Rank Two spells called to him.
He drifted toward them like a moth toward a dying flame.
[Rank Two – Spells in Lockstate: Partial Mode]
Even here, the impressions came as weight—muscle memories from a life he hadn't lived.
Celestial Lance appeared as the feeling of heft and judgment, but not its shape. Not its execution. Only the emotional imprint of destruction.
Nebula Shield was conviction—no form, no detail—just the sensation of holding firm against collapse.
Starfire Storm was fury without method, the idea of raining destruction but no clarity of how.
Stellar Binding felt like invisible pressure, a tightening in the chest—chains imagined, not crafted.
Comet Surge was raw momentum, the thrill of impact, but not the movement that caused it.
Astral Chains were deeper impressions, colder, an echo of dominion—but still only shadows of true technique.
The deeper he read, the colder it became.Not around him—inside him.
The stars weren't gifts.They were temptations.
Hmm, Astra pondered, deep in thought.There are so many uses for this type of mana. Interestingly though, these are not the ways I have to use my mana—these are only the ways I could use it. I need to train. Experiment. Forge my own approach.
So this is why nobles and guilds hold an edge over the masses.
Astra realized now this was a way of training. Subtle, but infinitely effective.
He had grown up learning mana on his own, through purchased simple spellbooks and imitations of more experienced mages. His skill came from knowledge—and his knowledge was painfully limited.
Sure, the mana network existed… but watching scenes of spells being used wasn't the same as understanding them. The same way watching swordplay didn't make you a master.
But this…this was the key to a foundation.
Astra felt this must be how people naturally advanced through the ranks—the world itself offering impressions, hints, fragments of higher understanding.
Gods… just how bogged down have I been?
Astra felt cheated.He had spent countless hours practicing mana control only to discover that those born fortunate had always possessed this invisible advantage.
Astra sighed as he sat down. Hmm I also need to integrate it into a sword style once I get the basics down. There is so much to do, I also have shadow magic to worry about.
His fingers curled into a fist. The heavens had made their stance clear.He was chosen.
But that didn't mean he couldn't also choose himself.
"I will ascend," Astra murmured. His voice was low, steady—too steady. "I will earn."
The curve of his lips was not born of joy, but of wrath sharpened into resolve.Let them choose him. Let them name him shadow-born, Street rat, unwanted, unseen.
Now he had the key to shine as bright as the stars of old.
He would refine his inner star.
Not for blessing.Not for destiny.For dominion.
Star-magic was no gentle inheritance—it was a predator disguised as light. A gift that only the worthy could endure, a curse that devoured the reckless whole. Astra harbored no illusions about the road ahead. He had no allies to temper his steps, only rivals and executioners lurking in the dark. Every motion, every breath, every flicker of his aura was being weighed by unseen judges, waiting for the instant he stumbled.
The celestial mana he pursued—if he could even touch it—was a dangerous beast. One that could burn him hollow in a heartbeat.
Just as the thought hardened in him, the coins at his hip flared with cold light.
[Quest update][Rank: Legendary][Rank Requirement: 1]Refine Inner Star
His mouth twitched upward. Progress. A spark of satisfaction, faint but real.
Then another ripple of mana pulsed from the coins—sharper, heavier.
[Quest]
[Rank Mythical]
[Rank 1-]
[Collect the Seven Godhood Symbols of Noctis and Umbra]
{Warning!}
[Some Godhoods/Symbols are already claimed by other entities.]
[Progress 2/14]
[Umbra 1/7]
[Cloak of Secrets}-(1% inherited)(Contested!)
[Noctis 1/7]
[Crown of Stars]-(2% inherited)(Contested!)
[Note]-(To Increase Claim, Reach Higher Rank or Defeat other Chosen)
Final Quest Reward-Authority of Night + Authority of Shadow
Astras eyes narrowed as he gasped.
A mythical quest. No way the highest rarity!
The description even Involved deities!
A lifetime quest that is going to be active from Rank One and up?! So Rank Seven!
The final reward.....Made him a god.
Astra knew what the Authority of Night was as it was stated in the countless sermons and canon of the Church. Of the God of Night, of his divine lineage. Noctis.
Everyone knew his title. The Infinite Known and Unknown, The embodiment of the Void and Cosmos, Father of Stars. The Lord of Silence and Eternity. The ruler above Space and Time. The God of Night.
And of course Astra knew all about the goddess Umbra!
Her authority of Shadow was. The Hidden and Unseen, The Shadow of the Universe. Embodiment of Secrets and Mischief. Keeper of Souls and Mother of Curses. The goddess of Shadows
To inherit all of these authorities... It would make me a being of unreasonable calibre!
Astra's knees almost buckled. The world swam, cold and bright. How is a pawn like me given this?
He knew what this meant. It would draw predators. He would not be the only one hunting the Symbols—nor the most dangerous. To even try reaching a fragment of such authority, he would one day face Seraphs, Angels, Devils and Sins.
Oh—and let's not forget the ancient horrors that already own some of these godhood symbols. Am I going to have to clash with them?. Just perfect.
His lips quirked again—not with joy. Not even with hope.
Only with the grim humor of a man who knew he had just been invited to a game of politics and dominion, where the players are gods and the pieces are reality itself. The end goal?
Godhood!