Chapter 12
Night fell over Sanctum Astrae like a curtain of obsidian silk, dotted with pinpricks of starlight. The echoes of the first tournament battle still lingered in the air—laughter, cheers, rumors. Dorm D's name had begun to rise among the students, a beacon among the first-years.
But not all voices celebrated.
Some whispered in fear.
Others, in envy.
And a few… in hunger.
---
Astern couldn't sleep.
He wandered the quiet halls alone, letting his feet carry him. His aura remained masked, as it always was, though he now understood its weight. Every step he took echoed the burden of the bloodline within him.
Eventually, he found himself at the Hall of Histories—a place few students visited after sunset. The doors, carved from elderwood and engraved with images of angelic wars, opened at his touch.
The hall was a museum of memory.
Portraits of archangels. Relics from the demon wars. Broken armor once worn by champions long forgotten.
And near the center, a blade.
It wasn't large or ornate. Just a thin silver longsword embedded in a pedestal of black stone. A plaque beneath it read:
"Seraphim's Last Edge – Wielded by the Nameless One during the First Banishment."
Astern approached. Something about the weapon called to him.
Not as an heir.
But as something deeper.
A voice stirred behind him.
"You came alone."
He turned, finding Lunaria leaning against a pillar, arms folded.
"I couldn't sleep."
"Neither could I."
They stood in silence. Her presence, as always, was calm—but tonight, a shadow of unease clung to her.
"Nysera," she said. "What do you think she meant?"
Astern didn't answer right away.
"I think she knows more about what I am than I do."
Lunaria's gaze softened. "You know you're not alone, right?"
He nodded. "But I might have to be."
---
Elsewhere, beneath the academy, Kyte stood at the edge of a soul mirror—his reflection fractured. A younger version of himself stood in the glass, wielding the Umbrenox crest.
"I failed them once," Kyte whispered.
A second voice, deeper and colder, answered from the dark:
"You'll fail again if you wait too long."
Kyte's eyes narrowed. "I won't let him fall. Not like they did."
The reflection grinned.
Then shattered.
---
The next day, the second round of the tournament began. Astern, Kaela, Lunaria, and Eryss were matched against House Velmora's elite—second-year prodigies from the Southern Capital.
The arena this time was airborne—a battlefield of floating platforms drifting between wind currents and magnetic fields. Falling meant disqualification.
The battle was ruthless.
Kaela fought on the edge, clashing with a spear-wielder who manipulated pressure bursts.
Lunaria froze entire platforms to redirect enemy movement.
Eryss struggled, barely keeping pace.
And Astern—
Astern moved like a phantom, slipping through assaults, appearing where least expected. Every strike he made was precise. His aura, though muted, lashed out with increasing aggression.
But something changed halfway through.
One of the Velmora students channeled a forbidden glyph—a burning brand of demonic design. The instructors didn't stop him.
Astern felt the glyph twist the air.
Felt his blood answer.
His aura surged.
Light and shadow exploded around him.
For a moment, the battlefield was blanketed in twilight.
When it cleared, the glyph had been shattered, and Astern stood over its caster—eyes burning silver-black.
The match was over.
But the silence that followed was not victory.
It was recognition.
Up in the judging tower, Nysera stood with arms crossed.
"It's begun," she murmured.