It was… odd. He had received no word from Shadow. No signal, no message. Not even a whisper. Granted, they didn't need to tell him anything—but it was still eerie. A great house, on par with the royals, unable to reach its own target? Not by spell, code, or thought?
His first instinct was paranoia.
They had found him. And decided he wasn't worth the details of they're schemes. Perhaps they were done with him. But that couldn't be right—what if he hadn't found Seraphine? What if he hadn't been invited at all? Then Shadow would have remained unaware. That ruled out deliberate exclusion.
Which led to the second—far more troubling—possibility.
They were wary of him. Perhaps he was a trap set by foes.
Especially now that he wore the Cloak of Secrecy—his divine authority, the godhood etched into his soul. It repelled divination. Masked his presence. Erased trails. It made the powerful feel... uneasy. Perhaps they couldn't find him. Or worse—they could, but dared not act blindly.
And then there was the third, most chilling option.
That they could reach him. That they had access. And chose not to.
After all, many had heard of the disturbance in the divine realms. Whispers of an Heir of Night. And who had always stood closest to Night?
Shadow.
Deities of all powers alike would be watching Shadow's movements now. If they arrived with someone bearing Astra's presence, violet eyes and curls and pale skin, key signature marks of House Nights lineage. It would be a declaration to the world: he belongs to us. A move that could unravel countless schemes. Or weave countless more.
Astra sighed and moved through the crowd like smoke in sunlight, the heat of too many gazes bearing down on him. Lords of House Dawn, with hair like molten gold and eyes glowing like bottled sunfire, stood flanked by House Duskcourtiers—cold-eyed, pale-skinned figures cloaked in moonlight silks. They all noticed him.
None approached.
Their stares were not curious. They were hostile.
It made sense. Shadow had no love for Dawn or Dusk. Dawn and Dusk had no love for Shadow. Infact Shadow and Dawn had always had a major rivalry of sorts, especially after the fall of night. Dawn aimed to eradicate and subject them, and Shadow would simply not falter. It is a feud of endless bloodshed. If only Shadow had helped Night during the War. But for some reason they did not. This was a grave reminder to Astra to never fully rely on them.
"If they could back up my ancestors when they were powerful, how I expect them to have my back now?" he snorted.
Astra turned his head, then saw a gorgeous looking girl.
He saw her.
Princess Seraphine of House Dune.
She stood at the center of the storm, unmoving in a swirl of color and heat. Layers of golden-threaded silk shimmered like starlight on sand, her dark hair crowned with desert sapphires that shimmered like a mirage. She didn't walk—she glided, as if the floor bent to her will. She looked...
Breathtaking.
"Astra," she greeted, voice low and velvety. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your way in the dark."
He offered a shallow bow, formal and unflinching.
"I was told this would be a minor gathering. Judging by the number of knives behind the smiles, I might've misheard."
She laughed, softly.
"You're not entirely wrong. But really, can one ever trust a royal invitation to be small?"
"Apparently not," he murmured, his eyes scanning the hall again.
Hers didn't leave him. Eyes like dark sapphires—deep, polished, unreadable.
"I'm surprised," she said. "I expected more... presence from House Shadow. A retinue, at least. But you arrive alone. No markings. No agents. No trace. How curious."
He kept his expression casual.
"I came earlier than expected. I haven't been exactly with my House for... various reasons. They should arrive soon." He let the word linger purposefully, Astra wanted the princess to assume he had a falling out or was on some mission or task for House Shadow. He assumed it should help get her off his track for a bit.
"Ah," she said with faint amusement. "So they sent you as their envoy?"
A flicker of silence stretched too long.
"Something like that," he sighed.
She stepped closer, tone turning coy.
"Interesting. Shadow breaking custom. It would also explain why you're living in a cheap inn." She sighed, as if the very idea offended her sensibilities.
"Does that interest you so much?" he asked, tilting his head, unsurprised she knew his location. He had attracted the attention of a princess—and not just any princess. Her shadow was deeper than it should be and was altered in a strange manner. Rank Two? Hardly.
"Very much," she said, lips curling. "Someone with your looks? You'd have been noticed earlier, even in Shadow. Yet you appeared out of thin air. In fact... I ran a background check." She sipped her wine, eyes daring him to respond.
"Shit. She's thorough. And terrifying. And gods, she knows how to control a conversation. fortunately, conversations have always been a strong point for me.
"And what did you find?" he asked, adopting a playful tone to mask the holes in his disguise.
Seraphine sighed wistfully. "Nothing—officially. You're in their records now. Astra of Shadow."He smiled inwardly. Yes. Shadow covered for me. She doesn't know.
But she continued.
"Which is strange. Because there's another Astra. From Duskfall. Jet-black curls. Violet eyes. Wanted ranking of one star and a bounty of fifty gold standards, Something related to prostitution evasion of the law and theft of a noble lady I believe?" She dropped it like a dagger.
Astra paled. As he coughed. "Heh. Is there, That is so embarrassing?" he muttered. "Well... House Shadow does work in mysterious ways." He decided to fully lean into the mystique. Secret agent. Operative. Whatever worked he didn't care. Strangely enough he found himself caring a bit what Seraphine thought.
Seraphine laughed. "Relax, Astra of Shadow. Even Dune doesn't pry into Shadow's operatives. Not anymore. But the timing? Now that is funny."
She leaned in closer, voice dropping to a low whisper.
"You know how divine disturbances stir saints and demigods to action, How the Gods eyes cast their gaze down from their divine seat and began search? How an Heir of Night emerges, disrupting Duskfall? And then... you appear. Out of thin air." Her smile widened. "Funny how that worked out."
She leaned back, raised her glass.
"Oh, and Shadow's envoy should be here soon. You can thank me later, Astra of Shadow."
She clinked her glass against his.
He accepted it with grace, though he stared at her in disbelief.
Noblewomen are terrifying.
Dawn and Dusk didn't know about him—he was sure of that. But Dune?
They had a file. Already. How?
Think.
The noble circles mirrored the political chessboard. Dawn and Dusk were allies. Dune, however, played neutral. Always hosting. Always balancing.
The only way they'd learn so quickly was through cooperation with Shadow.
Dune must have known that Shadow was planning something delicate here—something major. So they dug. And Seraphine found him.
In a day.
And yet... she wasn't outing him.
How strange.
He kept his smile sharp.
"It is funny how that worked out, Seraphine. With such attention placed on me by her royal highness, one might get the wrong idea."
She didn't miss a beat.
"You mean the right idea," she purred. "Flattery tastes better laced with subtle poison. In my case... not so subtle."
He chuckled slightly. She's funny.
As Astra's eyes flicked across the banquet hall, he felt the weight of countless presences pressing down on him—subtle, but undeniable.
Even as he tried to center himself, his senses strained beneath the intensity of the gathered nobles—most of them Rank Two or Three: the upper echelons of society. Warriors, politicians, diplomats, and high-ranking officials moved like currents in a golden sea of conversation and soft orchestral music.
In the distance, his gaze locked onto a smaller, quieter cluster. He recognized the unmistakable aura of Rank Fours, Bishops—their mana rich, stable, authoritative. They conversed in low tones, voices drowned beneath the ambient hum of the room. These were bishops. Demi-gods. Men and women who had served their houses for decades perhaps centuries, their power forged into polished precision, their words as refined as their will.
Their very presence demanded attention. Looking at them was like gazing at mountain ranges—not just for their strength, but for the primal awe they evoked. This was what demi-gods felt like up close.
Astra turned away. He had met with a Saint and Angel, Felt the gazes of deities, The subtle auras around him were felt sure. But they didn't affect him as much, unless of course the demigods wanted him to be affected.
He forced his breath steady, tried to blend back into the crowd, to remember how to stand without trembling, how to walk without shrinking. Mostly due to his anxiety and nervousness.
But the awareness lingered—he wasn't safe. Not truly, He was a rogue prince, a fallen amir, who was wanted by three royal houses and multiple churches for simply existing, and to make matters worse, he had two godhoods and was now constantly being divined about by gods knows who. He pursed his lips.
Then a voice pulled him gently back to the moment.
"You have a staring problem," Seraphine teased.
Astra blinked, surprised. He hadn't even realized how long he'd been drifting.
"I can't help myself," he replied with a small smile. "You're mesmerizing."
She laughed, soft and golden. "You really are smooth."
But the atmosphere shifted again—just slightly, like the change in air pressure before a storm.
A new presence entered the ballroom. A ripple moved through the hall, subtle yet undeniable. The mana was refined, weighty. Rank Four.
The shadows around Astra deepened with joy. Not alarm. Recognition.
He stiffened.
A man strode in—tall, lean, raven-haired, dressed in black with accents of grey and gold. His pale skin gleamed beneath the chandeliers. His steps were confident—no, arrogant. The way he moved told the truth before his aura did: I am the strongest in this room, and I know it.
A bishop. House Shadow. Powerful.
But it was the one beside him that truly unsettled Astra.
A young man.
Just as tall, his beauty almost unnatural—long black hair, sculpted features, eyes dark and deep with the faintest red sheen glowing beneath. Rank One, clearly. But the shadows reacted to him, not the bishop.
Astra's instincts sharpened. Ever since forming his second core and inheriting not one but two godhoods—Star and Shadow—his perception had changed. He could discern details, information as he had connections to literal personifications of those magics. He could discount strength. Potential, it was slightly weird, like information he had always known but never learned.
Just like with the Staff of Stars, a divine relic that far surpassed mortal expectations, he could slightly glimpse behind the veil of suppression of such high level artifacts. So what he saw just now slightly terrified him.
This boy's connection to the shadows was deeper than the bishop's.
Far deeper.
The bishop's eyes flicked toward Astra.
It was not just a glance—it was an assessment. A silent interrogation. Recognition? Uncertainty? He couldn't tell. But Astra held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than he should have.
Then, something unexpected.
The young man—the one cloaked in the adoration of shadows—turned away and approached a group of nobles from House Dawn and Dusk.
The mood soured instantly.
Astra could practically feel the hatred radiating from the nobles as the young man drew near. Their expressions tightened. It was clear: they despised him.
He heard the young man speak out loud. "My oh my hey guys, long time no see! how are my two favorite royal houses doing?"
Astra chuckled to himself. What a crazy guy.
Next to him, Seraphine spoke, her voice soft and knowing.
"So... it seems they've arrived. How fitting."
She looked him up and down one last time. "Go enjoy yourself," she said, already turning. "Oh—and find me later."
Astra inclined his head.
As he turned, his intuition sparked again—cold and precise. A deep shadow curled around him like a familiar shroud, and a voice rang in his ears, low and absolute:
"Prince of Night. We have found you."