Chapter 2
The sun rarely reached the orphanage nestled in the outskirts of Duskvale, a crumbling town weighed down by generations of despair. Beneath its worn stone walls, children of fallen angels and failed warriors played, trained, and waited—most with little hope of ever leaving.
But Astern was different.
Even from his earliest years, the golden emblem of the Umbrenox family clung to him like fate. Many tried to steal or hide it, but it always found its way back—as if guided by unseen hands. That emblem, glowing with celestial etching, set him apart, sparking envy and cruelty among those who should have been his brothers.
Three in particular tormented him: Kareth, the son of a disgraced captain with fists like hammers; Dalen, sharp-tongued and cruel; and Miraq, a silent shadow with a fondness for violence. They hated Astern's quiet strength, the matron's unusual favoritism, and the way he never once cried, no matter how brutal the beatings.
Only one thing kept him alive during those years—the mysterious figure who always arrived when death loomed closest. Astern never saw his face. Just golden light, warm hands, and the soft whisper of wings. Then darkness.
At five, something within him stirred.
It began with a flicker—a ripple in the air around him when he was scared or angry. A whisper that told him to move, hide, watch. He began sneaking into the orphanage's decaying library, cloaking himself in a veil of presence so thin it blurred him from view. There, he read about the world he barely knew: the division between towns and capitals, the dominance of the royal families, and the ancient war that still scarred the stars.
He read about Sanctum Astrae, the legendary academy founded after the Archangel's last stand—a place where the strong ascended and the weak were left behind. He learned about the hierarchy of angels, about spiritual attributes, and about the stages of awakening.
More importantly, he began to practice.
When others slept, he meditated beneath moonlight. When others trained, he listened to the wind, feeling the spiritual energy within and around him. He called it "Eidros"—a name he found in a forbidden scripture tucked beneath the floorboards.
By the time he turned ten, Astern could move without sound, veil his presence for hours, and sense emotions like distant echoes. But he kept it all hidden behind the same quiet smile that had once drawn blood.
Only two others ever looked at him with different eyes.
Kaela was warmth in the cold—a bright-eyed girl with a gentle soul and healing abilities that bloomed too early for someone from Duskvale. She spoke to Astern like they were equals, even when others mocked him.
Lunaria, by contrast, was ice. Calculated, calm, and fiercely intelligent, she never missed a detail. She watched Astern the way a hawk watches prey—not out of cruelty, but curiosity. She saw the mask he wore. And for reasons even she didn't understand, she never exposed him.
It was on a quiet, silver-lit evening that Matron Elenya gathered the sixteen children in the orphanage's courtyard. Her violet eyes swept over them with rare solemnity.
"You're all of age now," she said, voice firm. "The application for Sanctum Astrae is open."
Gasps rippled through the group.
"Few from Duskvale are ever chosen. But the trials are fair. Three tests. If you pass, you ascend. If not... you return."
Astern felt it then—a pulse in his emblem, like a heartbeat.
The world was finally opening.