Cel stopped before the monolith, grateful for the excuse to focus on something other than the heat still crawling up his neck.

The surface rippled like water, runes burning against his vision:

<Name: Celvian>
<Paragons: (Heir to the Moon) (White Death)>
<Artifacts: (Silent Moon) (Cinderward)>
<Insights: (Ledger of Nightmares)>
<Achievements: (2)>

He focused on the achievements line.

<Achievements: (You died) (You entered a new dimension)>

Cel stared at the words.

Crazy. Both of them sounded absolutely insane when laid out like that.

The first he'd earned by dying - something that should have ended everything. The second one was new. A record of stepping into the Reckoning's base - that floating island in the crackling violet void.

His brow furrowed.

Not the Hollow Realms. Not the real world either.

A completely separate dimension.

But how?

Did the Reckoning find it somehow? Stumble across a rift that led to an empty pocket of reality and claim it?

Or had someone created it?

The thought made his stomach twist. Creating an entire dimension seemed impossible - the kind of power that shouldn't exist outside of gods themselves.

But the Reckoning had nine members. Several of them legendary figures - the Mercenary King, the second prince of the Empire, a Hallowed. And Veyron led them all, had welcomed him based solely on Selina's description.

What kind of person could lead such figures? And what kind of power did someone like that possess?

Cel's jaw tightened. More questions without answers.

His gaze shifted back to his paragons. One of them had received a new trait.

He focused on Heir to the Moon first.

<Paragon: Heir to the Moon>
<Affinity: 1/10>
<Traits: (Lunar Vigor) (Unbroken Succession) (Eternal Witness)>
<Authorities: />
<Enlightment: "The moon is never the same twice, yet she is always herself. Full tonight, crescent tomorrow, vanished the next - but never gone. They call it change. The moon calls it constancy.">

Three traits now, instead of two.

Eternal Witness. The new addition.

Cel narrowed his focus on it and the runes shifted again.

<Trait: Eternal Witness>
<Effect: Your body has adapted to the moon's eternal watch. You no longer require sleep.>

For a moment, he simply stared.

Then the implication hit him like a physical blow.

No sleep.

Never again.

Several hours every night that other people lost to unconsciousness - hours he could use however he wanted. Training. Reading. Thinking. Living.

The sheer value of that…

And it wasn't just time. Sleep was vulnerability. A period where threats could approach unnoticed, where defenses lowered whether you wanted them to or not.

Now he'd never have to worry about that again.

His throat felt tight.

'Thank you.'

The thought rose unbidden, directed not at the goddess but at Selina. Her presence. Her rank as a Divine Oracle.

Because she held that rank, his blessing carried weight it wouldn't have otherwise.

Other Chosen received abilities suited to survival. Basic enhancements. Modest authorities.

He'd been given resurrection. And now even the freedom from one of humanity's most fundamental limitations.

All because Selina stood as his guide.

'I don't deserve you,' he thought. 'But I'm grateful anyway.'

The monolith's light dimmed as his focus withdrew, runes fading back into its surface.

Cel turned away, finding Selina still standing in the mist nearby, that serene smile in place.

"I’m leaving now," he said quietly.

"May the Moon Goddess light your path, Chosen One."

The blessing settled over him like a gentle weight. Familiar now. Comforting in a way few things were.

He nodded once, then closed his eyes and reached for the boundary of his soul.

The world shifted.

Darkness greeted him.

Cel blinked, momentarily disoriented before realizing that he was still in his room.

The night had fallen while he was gone.

He pushed himself up from the bed, joints protesting slightly despite his divinely enhanced body.

The window showed only blackness beyond - no moon visible from this angle. Street sounds had faded to occasional distant footsteps and the creak of settling wood.

His body felt... strange. Not tired, exactly. But worn in a way that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

Like he'd been running for days and only just realized he could stop.

Eternal Witness meant he didn't need sleep anymore.

But that didn't mean he couldn't sleep.

And right now, despite everything, the thought of lying down and letting unconsciousness take him felt impossibly appealing.

Just for a little while.

Cel moved to the bed and sat on its edge, then swung his legs up and lay back.

The mattress was thin. The pillow barely deserved the name.

But it was soft. Safe.

He stared at the ceiling, watching shadows shift across wooden beams.

Ten days until the Academy started.

Ten days to figure out what it meant to live instead of just survive.

He still didn't know how.

But Selina believed he could learn.

That would have to be enough.

His eyes drifted shut.

Sleep came easier than it had any right to, pulling him down into darkness.

The nightmare came like it always did - his father's fists, his mother's silence, the cultists' hands reaching through rusted bars. Familiar horrors cycling through his mind in vivid detail.

Cel jerked awake gasping, sweat-soaked and shaking.

Gray light filtered through the window. Dawn approaching.

Just a dream.

The same dream that appeared every single night.

His breathing slowly steadied as awareness fully returned.

Except now…

Now it wouldn't.

Thanks to his new trait Eternal Witness, he no longer required sleep, which meant no more nightmares dragging him back through his trauma.

Relief hit him so hard it felt physical - a weight lifting from his chest that he hadn't fully realized was there until it vanished.

He could sleep if he wanted to. The trait didn't prevent it. But he'd never need to again. Never be forced to surrender consciousness and hope the nightmares didn't come.

He could just... stay awake. Forever, if he chose.

The freedom in that felt impossible.

Cel sat up slowly, running a hand through sweat-dampened hair. His white hair - still strange to see when he caught glimpses of it.

Sunlight streamed through the window, bright and clean, spilling across the floor in a warm rectangle. The day stretched ahead of him - hours and hours with no structure, no purpose.

What was he supposed to do now?

Selina's advice drifted back to him. ‘Rest. Enjoy the peaceful time you have been given. Do the things that bring you joy.’

Cel's jaw tightened.

He still didn't know what brought him joy. Didn't know how to just... exist without purpose or goal.

Training made sense. Preparing for threats made sense. But wandering around looking for something that made him smile?

He didn't even know where to start.

His thoughts circled back to the only moment recently where something close to peace had touched him.

Talking with Selina.

Not during the trial. Not when she explained his abilities or warned him about dangers. Just... talking. Her patience. Her gentle certainty. The way she listened without judgment and answered without condescension.

The way she smiled…

Heat crept up his neck at the memory of that radiant expression.

He wanted to see that again.

Wanted to talk with her more. Ask her questions that had nothing to do with survival or power. Learn what she thought about things. Hear her voice without the weight of divine guidance hanging over every word.

The desire settled in his chest, warm and uncomfortable.

But she was a Divine Oracle. The highest authority beneath the gods themselves.

Why would she want to spend time with someone like him?

She guided him because it was her duty. Her role. Not because she enjoyed his company or found him interesting.

Expecting anything else was just…

Delusional.

Cel pushed himself off the bed, suddenly restless. The room felt too small again. Confining.

Maybe he should go outside. Walk through the Academy grounds. Get familiar with the place before classes started.

Or maybe he should practice with Silent Moon. Test how Empathic Steel responded to different emotional states.

Or—

Three sharp knocks echoed through the small room.

Cel froze.

Every muscle in his body went rigid. His hand moved instinctively toward where Silent Moon would materialize if he called it.

No one knew he was here. No one except the Reckoning and the receptionist who'd enrolled him.

The knocks came again.

Cel moved to the door silently and stopped, listening.

Breathing on the other side. Steady. Calm.

Not threatening, then. Or very good at pretending not to be.

He reached for the handle and pulled the door open.

The receptionist stood in the hallway, holding a neatly folded bundle of dark fabric. Her expression was professional but tired - like this was just another task in a long shift.

"Apologies for the early hour," she said without preamble. "I meant to deliver these yesterday, but the paperwork took longer than expected." She held out the bundle. "Your Academy uniform and monthly allowance."

Cel stared at the offered items, his hand still hovering near where Silent Moon would appear.

The woman's gaze tracked the motion, then returned to his face without comment.

"The uniform is required for classes and official Academy functions," she continued when he didn't immediately take it. "You're free to wear whatever you like otherwise." She shifted the bundle slightly. "The allowance is standard for commoner students - it should cover your needs."

Cel finally reached out and took the bundle.

"The Library is open from dawn to midnight. Same goes for the training grounds. Curfew's at midnight for commoner dorms."

She paused, watching him with that same tired professionalism.

“Any questions?"

Cel's throat worked. Too many questions, actually. But none that she could answer.

"No."

The woman nodded once. "Then I'll leave you to settle in. Welcome to the Chosen Academy."

She turned and walked away down the dim hallway, footsteps fading into silence.

Cel stood in the doorway for a moment longer, then stepped back inside.

He moved to the bed, set the bundle down and carefully unfolded it.

The uniform spilled out first - dark fabric that looked almost black, with silver threading along the collar and cuffs. Well-made. Practical.

Over the heart, embroidered in that same silver thread, was the crescent moon symbol of the Moon Goddess.

Cel's fingers traced over it slowly.

The uniform was stiff. Formal. The kind of thing that would announce what he was to everyone who saw him.

Moon Chosen. Academy student. Commoner.

His fingers pulled away from the silver crescent.

The cloth pouch filled with silver coins came next. More money than he'd imagined. Enough to live on for a month, apparently.

He weighed the pouch in his palm. Heavy. Solid. Real.

Wealth he'd earned simply by existing. By being Chosen.

The thought sat strangely in his chest.

Cel set the coins down and picked up the uniform again. He already had something to wear. Cinderward - an artifact of the blessed grace that protected without restricting, felt right in a way this stiff formal uniform never would.

He folded the uniform carefully and set it in the wardrobe.

The sky was brightening properly now through the window - dawn breaking across the city in shades of gold and pale blue.

Hours stretching ahead with nothing to do and no idea how to fill them.

‘Do the things that bring you joy.’ Selina's advice echoed again, gentle and impossible.

Cel's fingers drummed against his thigh as he considered his options.

His gaze tracked to the door.

Outside was a city. Stella - the capital. Streets he'd barely seen while Esrin marched him to the Academy. People living normal lives, doing normal things.

When was the last time he'd walked somewhere without a destination?

Never, probably.

Maybe that was where he should start. With just... walking.

Seeing what was out there.

The idea felt foreign and slightly terrifying.

But Selina believed he could do it.

And right now, that was enough.

Cel moved to the door, pulled it open, and stepped into the hallway.

Cel sat on the bed's edge, staring at nothing.

The room was quiet. Too quiet. No whisper of ash settling. No distant tremors beneath the ground. Just the muffled sounds of the Academy beyond his walls - footsteps in corridors, voices too distant to understand, the creak of old wood settling.

His fingers traced patterns on his thigh without conscious thought. Small circles that meant nothing.

'The Reckoning.'

The name felt strange in his mind. An organization that hunted corrupt Chosen. That killed those who believed power placed them above consequence.

Noble work. Necessary work, maybe.

But killers nonetheless.

His jaw tightened.

They'd voted on whether he lived or died like it was choosing what to have for dinner. Four votes to kill him. Four to let him join.

'Would they have done it? If Veyron had sided with Draven?'

The answer was obvious. Yes. Without hesitation. Esrin might have stopped them - or she might not have. The vote existed to prevent exactly that kind of conflict.

His hands curled into fists.

He'd joined an organization that had nearly executed him. That operated with the kind of cold pragmatism that reminded him too much of his father.

'But they fight people like him.'

The thought arrived with uncomfortable clarity. The Reckoning existed because powerful Chosen abused that power. Because the law failed when divine favor was involved.

His father had beaten him nearly to death. Had sold him to cultists that used him for their twisted experiments. Had done it all knowing his position in the Sun Clan made him untouchable.

If the Reckoning had known…

Cel's breath came harder.

Would they have killed him?

The answer should have been obvious. But the question wouldn't settle.

He pushed himself off the bed and moved to the window.

The Academy grounds stretched below. Beyond the walls, the street continued - cobblestones, shops, people moving through their afternoon routines.

Normal. Peaceful. Safe.

Everything the Hollow Realms wasn't.

His reflection stared back from the glass - white hair, pale skin, eyes that looked older than sixteen had any right to be.

'No Divine Energy.'

The thought made his stomach twist.

He'd assumed he was simply bad at sensing it. That his talent was so poor he couldn't feel what every other Chosen felt naturally. A limitation. A weakness.

But the Reckoning had revealed something else.

An artifact, they'd assumed. Something suppressing his divine signature so completely that even other Chosen couldn't sense him.

Except there was no such artifact.

Cel's hand dropped to the windowsill. He focused, reaching for Frostmark the way he always did - through intent alone, bypassing the energy he couldn't sense.

Frost erupted beneath his touch, spreading across the wood in delicate patterns that branched and crystallized.

Cold bit into his palm. He pulled his hand back, flexing fingers against the ache.

The frost remained, permanent and gleaming.

'How?'

How could he be blessed without Divine Energy? How could he use authorities without the fuel to activate them?

It made no sense.

A Chosen who couldn't sense Divine Energy shouldn't exist. Much less a Chosen who had none.

Yet here he stood.

Blessed by the Moon Goddess. Able to summon artifacts and authorities. But lacking the energy that should make it all possible.

'What the hell am I?' The question hung in the silence.

Something was wrong with him. Something fundamental that even the goddess's blessing hadn't fixed.

Or… hadn't needed to fix.

Maybe it wasn't a flaw to be corrected.

Maybe it was simply... what he was.

Cel turned from the window, his gaze tracking across the sparse room. Bed. Desk. Wardrobe. Basin.

His entire world, now.

And Raven…

The name settled in his chest like a stone.

Raven was the Prince of Death. A prodigy who'd infiltrated the Sun Clan's stronghold and murdered their greatest talent - someone blessed by a Divine Oracle, just like Cel.

That parallel made his skin prickle.

What could drive someone to throw away everything? Title, clan, divine favor, family - all of it abandoned to become Cursed and commit murder.

The expedition to the Western Continent. Something had happened there.

But what?

And why kill the Sun Clan's prodigy specifically? Was it personal? Political? Something else?

Cel sank onto the bed's edge, elbows on his knees.

Raven had helped him. Protected him from creatures that should have killed them both. Had done it all knowing Cel was Chosen - knowing most Chosen would try to kill him on sight.

He'd even told Cel to trust Esrin. To seek her protection.

Even knowing she hunted him.

That wasn't evil.

But cold-blooded murder wasn't good either.

The contradiction refused to resolve. Maybe there were no good or bad people - just broken ones making choices that seemed right in the moment.

Or maybe Cel was rationalizing because Raven had shown him kindness when no one else had.

He pressed his hands against his face.

If Raven appeared again... if the Reckoning ordered him to help hunt someone who'd saved his life…

What was he supposed to do?

The room felt too small suddenly. Confining. Like the walls were pressing in.

He needed answers. Real answers, not speculation or half-formed theories.

And there was only one person who might have them.

Cel closed his eyes and reached inward.

The world shifted.

Cracked earth materialized beneath his feet. Mist swirled in gentle currents around his legs. Small flowers with bluish-white petals bloomed from small fissures, reaching toward the full moon that hung above.

Footsteps approached through the mist.

Selina emerged with that same graceful certainty, white robes trailing through the haze. Her silver mask caught moonlight, reflecting it in pale crescents. Below, her lips curved in a serene smile.

"Welcome back, Chosen One."

The greeting was gentle. Patient. A small anchor of certainty in everything that felt chaotic.

Cel's throat worked. Where to even start?

"I need to ask you something." The words came rougher than intended.

"Of course," Selina said simply.

"About the Reckoning. Are they..." He paused, searching for the right question. "They hunt corrupt Chosen. Kill them when the law fails. Is that justice? Or just violence?"

Selina tilted her head slightly, already understanding where his thoughts had taken him. "An interesting question. But perhaps the wrong one."

Cel blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"Organizations are not inherently good or evil, Chosen One. They are simply structures. Frameworks built by people to achieve certain ends." She gestured gracefully with one hand. "What defines them - what truly matters - are the individuals who comprise them. Their intentions. Their values. Their choices."

Cel's shoulders drew back. "So you're saying I should judge them by their members, not their stated purpose?"

"I am saying that the Reckoning is what its people make it." Her tone remained gentle but carried weight. "Some may be driven by genuine desire for justice. Others by vengeance. Still others by the simple thrill of power over those who once held power over them." She paused. "Judge each person for themselves. Not the banner they stand beneath."

The answer settled in his chest, heavy and uncomfortable.

It meant he couldn't just accept or reject the Reckoning wholesale. Couldn't trust them or dismiss them as a group.

He'd have to evaluate each member individually. Decide who deserved his trust and who didn't.

Exhausting.

But probably wise.

"I have another question," he said finally. "About my condition."

Selina's attention shifted, becoming more focused.

"The Reckoning said I have no Divine Energy." The words felt strange in his mouth. Wrong. "Not suppressed. Not hidden. Just... absent." He met her masked gaze. "How is that possible? How can I manifest abilities without the power to fuel them?"

Silence answered him

When Selina finally spoke, that familiar note of regret colored her voice. "I am sorry, Chosen One. That does not lie within my authority."

Cel's hands clenched into fists. "So I'm just supposed to figure it out myself? Stumble around blind until I happen to understand why I'm—why I'm broken?"

"You are not broken."

The certainty in her voice stopped him cold.

Selina took a step closer, silver mask tilted toward him with what felt like infinite patience.

"You are different, Chosen One. That is not the same as flawed. The goddess chose you knowing exactly what you are. She blessed you not despite your nature, but because of it. Whatever answer you seek regarding your condition, you will find it when the time is right. Not before."

The frustration burning in his chest didn't dissipate, but something about her tone made him swallow the angry response forming on his tongue.

She was right.

He didn't like it. Hated it, actually.

But she was right.

"Fine." The word came out clipped. "Then what about Raven?"

Selina's posture shifted subtly. Still graceful, still poised, but... guarded in a way she'd never been before.

"You told me to be careful," Cel pressed. "What did you mean? Should I trust him? Avoid him?"

The mist curled around their feet, moving in slow spirals across cracked earth.

"I cannot share more than I have already told you, Chosen One." Her tone carried genuine regret. "Raven's path is his own, and the choices he has made - the reasons behind them - are not mine to reveal." She paused. "What I can tell you is this: the young man you met in the Ashlands is dangerous. Not because he wishes you harm, but because the forces surrounding him are complex. Volatile."

The implication made his stomach twist.

"Dangerous how? To me? To others?"

"I think," Selina said carefully, "that you should stay away from him if your paths cross again."

The advice settled over him like cold water.

Cel turned away, his gaze tracking across the cracked earth. Flowers swayed in wind that shouldn't exist here, their petals catching moonlight.

Behind him, Selina's posture relaxed slightly, the guardedness fading back into her usual gentle presence.

"Is there anything else, Chosen One?"

Cel was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the cracked earth at his feet.

"What am I supposed to do?" The words came out quieter than he'd intended. Almost vulnerable.

For a heartbeat, Selina simply watched him, her presence calm and unhurried.

When she finally spoke, her voice carried an almost playful tone. "Nothing at all."

Cel blinked, momentarily thrown off balance.

"Rest, Chosen One. Enjoy the peaceful time you have been given. Do the things that bring you joy, or that you have always wished to try."

Cel stared at her, confusion written across his face. "I don't—what?"

"You have fought enough. Survived enough. Bled enough." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to something softer. "Learn to live too."

The words landed like something foreign. Incomprehensible.

Live.

Not fight. Not survive. Not train or prepare or become stronger.

Just... live.

"I don't understand," Cel said slowly. "The Academy starts in ten days. I need to master my abilities. Learn to control my strength. Figure out how to—"

"You need," Selina interrupted gently, "to remember what it feels like to be human. Not just a weapon. Not just a survivor." She paused. "When was the last time you did something simply because it brought you joy?"

The question stopped him cold.

When? Before the beating? Before his Divine Calling?

Had he ever?

His throat felt tight. "I don't know how."

"Then now is the perfect time to learn." There was no judgment in her tone. Only understanding. "Ten days, Chosen One. Ten days to discover what brings you peace. What makes you smile. What reminds you that you are more than the trials you have survived."

"Like what?" The question came out helpless.

"Start small." Selina's hand lifted, gesturing toward the moon above. "Watch the moon. Walk through the city without searching for threats. Speak with someone because you want to, not because you need something from them." She lowered her hand. "Let yourself be bored. Let yourself be curious."

The suggestions felt absurd. Frivolous.

Dangerous, even.

But something in his chest loosened at the thought.

"I don't know if I can," he admitted.

"You can." Selina's certainty was absolute. "You simply need to give yourself permission."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft rustle of flowers swaying in the mist.

Eventually, Cel nodded once. Not agreement, exactly. Just acknowledgement that he'd heard her.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"You are welcome, Chosen One."

Selina's smile brightened - genuine warmth transforming her serene expression into something radiant. The moonlight seemed to gather around her, highlighting the elegant curve of her mask, the graceful line of her throat, the way her white robes moved like water with each small shift of her posture.

It was…

Beautiful. She was beautiful.

He'd known that, objectively. But knowing something and truly seeing it were different things entirely.

Heat crawled up his neck, sudden and unwelcome.

"Chosen One?" Selina tilted her head slightly, that radiant smile still in place. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he said too quickly. "Nothing.”

Cel's gaze jerked away, desperate for somewhere - anywhere - else to look.

His eyes landed on the divine monolith standing behind her, its surface gleaming with pale light.

Right. The achievement. He'd heard the Divine Voice earlier, hadn't he? When Esrin brought him through that rift.

Perfect.

"Actually—" Cel gestured toward the monolith, seizing the excuse like a lifeline. "I just remembered. New achievement. I should probably check that before I go."

"Of course," Selina said, and was it his imagination, or did her tone carry a hint of amusement?

Cel didn't look back to check. He was already moving toward the monolith, his steps perhaps a bit quicker than necessary.

Behind him, he could have sworn he heard the softest sound - barely audible.

A quiet chuckle.

His face burned hotter.

The monolith's surface rippled as he approached, text forming in that familiar script:

<Name: Celvian>
<Paragons: (Heir to the Moon) (White Death)>
<Artifacts: (Silent Moon) (Cinderward)>
<Insights: (Ledger of Nightmares)>
<Achievements: (2)>

Cel stepped through the doorway into warmth and noise.

The street beyond stretched wide - cobblestones worn smooth by countless feet, buildings rising three and four stories on either side. People moved in constant flow, their voices blending into a hum that felt overwhelming after the Ashlands' silence.

The capital. Stella.

He'd been here before. When his father had deemed his presence necessary for some royal occasions. But at that time, he only rode carriages with curtained windows, direct routes to the palace, guards ensuring no common rabble came too close.

This was different.

Esrin moved forward without hesitation, her boots clicking against cobblestone with steady rhythm. Cel followed, his gaze tracking across storefronts, street vendors, children darting between adults with laughter that felt alien after everything.

A baker's shop. The scent of fresh bread drifted through an open door, making his stomach clench despite having eaten moss and raw meat for days.

A blacksmith. The ring of hammer on anvil carried over the general din, sparks visible through the doorway.

A woman selling flowers from a cart, their colors so vivid they hurt to look at after endless gray and crimson.

"Make way!"

A carriage rattled past, forcing pedestrians to press against building walls. Cel stepped aside automatically, but his attention had already moved to a group of street performers. One juggled flaming torches while another played something stringed that produced music he couldn't name.

People dropped coins into a hat at their feet.

The mundane reality of it felt wrong somehow. This world had continued. While he'd been tortured, while he'd died and been resurrected, while he'd eaten rotting meat and fought creatures that shouldn't exist - life had simply gone on.

"Lady Esrin!"

The call came from somewhere to his right. Cel's head turned.

A merchant stood in his shop doorway, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched his knees. When he straightened, his expression held something between reverence and barely contained eagerness.

Esrin didn't acknowledge him. Just kept walking.

More people noticed.

Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through grass. Conversations stopped mid-word. Heads turned.

"Is that really her?"

"The Hallowed herself..."

"What's she doing here?"

Cel's gaze tracked between them and Esrin's rigid back. She moved through it all like a blade through water - present but untouchable, commanding respect without asking for it.

A child ran past, weaving between adults with the kind of reckless joy that came from never having faced real danger. His mother called after him, upset but fond.

Cel watched them until they disappeared into the crowd.

The street opened into a square. A fountain dominated the center - carved stone depicting the hero who had founded the Stellarion Empire. Water flowed from raised hands, catching sunlight in ways that made it gleam.

Children played near its edge. A couple sat on its rim, speaking in tones too quiet to hear. An old man tossed breadcrumbs to pigeons that swarmed his feet.

Normal. All of it utterly, impossibly normal.

Esrin crossed the square without slowing.

Cel followed, his attention fragmenting between a dozen different scenes.

Eventually, the Academy rose ahead.

Not suddenly - it had been visible for a while, growing larger as they approached. But only now did Cel truly register it, the structure dominating his vision.

Stone walls perhaps four times his height. Iron gates that stood open but looked capable of withstanding siege. Beyond them, buildings sprawled across grounds that seemed to stretch far - dormitories, training halls, structures whose purpose he could only guess.

Esrin stopped before the gates.

Guards flanked the entrance, their armor polished to a shine that caught the afternoon light. They straightened as Esrin approached, recognition clear in their expressions.

"Lady Tempvault." The younger one on the right bowed. "Welcome—"

Esrin's gaze cut to him. Not sharp, not angry - just present in a way that made the guard's words die mid-sentence.

"Lady Esrin," the older guard on the left said quickly, stepping forward with a deeper bow. "Forgive him - he's new to his post. We're honored by your presence."

The younger guard had gone pale, his bow deepening until it looked painful.

Esrin held the moment for a heartbeat longer. Then she gave the older guard the barest nod and walked through.

Cel followed, feeling their eyes track him with curiosity that would probably turn to questions the moment he was out of earshot.

The grounds stretched before them - grass trimmed to uniformity, trees placed in patterns that created shade without blocking sight lines. A group of students moved between buildings wearing dark uniforms with colored trim. Most looked his age, maybe older.

None of them paid Cel any attention. All eyes fixed on Esrin.

The reception building stood near the entrance - a two-story structure with wide windows and a sign that read "Administration" in formal script.

Esrin pushed through the door.

The interior was exactly what Cel expected. Polished wood floors. Desks arranged in neat rows. Papers organized in stacks that suggested someone took pride in order.

A woman sat behind the nearest desk. She looked up as they entered, her expression shifting from bored routine to sharp attention in the space of a heartbeat.

"Lady Esrin." She stood, smoothing her uniform. "What can I do for you?"

"I have a Chosen who needs enrollment." Esrin's tone remained flat. Professional.

The woman's gaze shifted to Cel, taking in his armor, his white hair, his obvious exhaustion despite the healing.

"Of course." She pulled parchment from a drawer, along with an ink pen. "I'll need some information."

Her pen hovered over the page. "Name?"

"Celvian."

She wrote it down. "Place of origin?"

Cel's mind went blank. He couldn't say House Solmar. Couldn't name anywhere in Sun Clan territory without risking someone recognizing the connection.

"Thornhaven," Esrin stepped in. "Storm Clan territory."

The receptionist noted it without looking up. "Patron deity?"

"The Moon Goddess."

The pen paused. Just for a moment - but long enough that Cel noticed.

"I see." She continued writing. "And your guide's rank?"

Cel's jaw tightened. Saying "Divine Oracle" would create exactly the kind of attention he couldn't afford. Not if he wanted to survive long enough to kill his father.

"Forty-seven."

The woman noted it without reaction. "To verify your divine blessing, I'll need to see your mark."

Cel's chest constricted.

The mark. The one his father had torn away with his bare hands. The one that was now nothing but scar tissue and ruined flesh.

"Is that necessary?" The words came too sharp.

"It’s protocol." Her tone was apologetic but firm. "For all new students."

Esrin said nothing. Just stood there with that same impassive expression, offering no help this time.

Cel's hands moved to his armor.

Cinderward dissolved at his command - moonlight threads unraveling from his shoulders, chest, and arms until they vanished entirely, leaving him bare from the waist up.

Then he turned.

The air in the room changed subtly. Not dramatically - just a slight shift that suggested both women were looking at what he'd revealed.

"Thank you." The receptionist's voice came measured. "That confirms it."

Cel blinked.

'What?'

His hand shot to his back, fingers searching for the familiar texture of scar tissue.

Smooth skin met his touch.

He pressed harder, following the curve of his spine between shoulder blades. Nothing. No raised edges. No torn flesh. No evidence of what his father had done.

The receptionist cleared her throat softly. Esrin's expression didn't change, but her gaze tracked his movements with clinical interest - as if watching someone discover something both obvious and inexplicable.

Understanding crashed through him.

The Moon Goddess had given him a new body. One that had never been beaten, never been tortured, never carried his father's rage.

The mark was there. Whole. Unmarred.

"I'll show you to your quarters." The receptionist was already moving toward a door at the room's far end. "If you'll follow me?"

Cel summoned Cinderward back on. The armor manifested around his upper body in seconds, settling into place with familiar weight.

Esrin hadn't moved, her ruby eyes tracking him with that same calculating intensity.

"Thank you," Cel said quietly. "For bringing me here."

She nodded once. Then she turned and walked out without another word.

The door closed behind her with soft finality.

"This way." The receptionist gestured.

They left through a side door, stepping back into the afternoon light. The path led east, away from the main building toward a separate structure - simpler than the administration building, its stone less ornate.

She pushed through the entrance without ceremony. A corridor stretched ahead, lined with identical wooden doors. The floor was clean but worn, the walls bare except for numbered plaques.

She stopped at a door near the middle, producing a key from her pocket.

The lock clicked and the door swung open.

"This is your room." She handed him the key. "Meals are served in the main hall three times daily. Classes begin in ten days. Someone will brief you on your schedule before then."

She left before he could respond.

Cel stood in the doorway, taking in what would apparently be home.

Small. A bed against one wall, narrow but clean. A desk beneath the window with a single chair. A wardrobe that looked barely large enough for the few possessions he didn't have. A basin and pitcher for washing.

Commoner quarters. The kind of room he would have been ashamed to enter back when his father's opinion still mattered to him.

He stepped inside and closed the door.

Silence crashed down.

Not the oppressive silence of the Ashlands. Just... quiet. Normal quiet, where he could hear his own breathing without scanning for threats.

A mirror hung on the wall near the wardrobe.

Cel moved toward it, his reflection emerging with each step. White hair that caught the light filtering through the window. Pale skin that looked like it had never seen sun. Eyes the color of winter sky.

Not the gaunt, broken thing from the cell. Not the boy his father had beaten nearly to death.

Someone else. Someone new.

He turned, presenting his back to the mirror, then dismissed Cinderward. Moonlight threads unraveled from his torso, leaving him bare. He craned his neck, trying to see what he knew was there but needed to confirm.

The mark gleamed in reflected light. Silver against pale skin. At its heart, a crescent moon cradled a perfect circle, phases etched along its inner curve. Sharp, star-like points radiated outward in alternating lengths. Two sweeping, wing-like curves underlined the design, studded with pointed projections like frost fragments.

Beautiful. Whole. Unbroken.

His fingers found it again, tracing lines his father had tried to destroy. The skin was smooth. Perfect. As if violence had never touched it.

Cel stared at his reflection for a long time.

Then he turned away and sat on the bed's edge, feeling the mattress give slightly under his weight.

Ten days until classes began. Ten days to master enough control that he wouldn't reveal how little he understood his own power. Ten days to figure out how to survive in a place that would judge him by the Moon Goddess's weak reputation, not by what he'd endured to earn her blessing.

His gaze tracked back to the mirror, to the glimpse of white hair visible in its reflection.

‘White Death.’

The codename settled in his chest with quiet certainty.

Yes. That's what he would become.

Not the broken boy his father had thrown away. Not the prisoner who'd eaten maggots to survive.

Something colder. Something absolute.

Something that they would never see coming.



-------------------------



Author's Note

And that's it! The end of Arc 1: "Shattered Moon Rising"!
Thank you all so much for sticking with me through this first arc. It's been an incredible journey, and I'm excited about what's coming next.

Now, some important updates:

We're back to our regular schedule!
Two chapters per week:
- Wednesdays
- Saturdays

New Tier System is Live!
You now have the option to read chapters in advance on my page with a monthly subscription. To make sure you only pay what you can afford, I divided it into different tiers:

- Tier 1: Read 1 chapter ahead
- Tier 2: Read 2 chapters ahead
- Tier 3: Read 3 chapters ahead
- Tier 4: Read 4 chapters ahead
- Tier 5: Read 5 chapters ahead

And for those that are highly invested in the story, I developed a new special format:
- Tier 6 (Special): Read 5 chapters ahead + Meet a character of your choice

What's "Meet a character of your choice"?
You can choose a character and say something to them - one thing per special. Here are some examples:
- Ask them a personal question
- Ask about something story-related you're curious about
- Ask what they think about another character
- Simply say something to the character and get their reaction
Then I am going to write a special chapter.
These specials will look similar to the Christmas specials I did before.
Note: I would recommend you write me before you choose that option. Because some things might not be possible (maybe if it's inappropriate or if the result would not be satisfactory)

General bonus features of my page:
- As a subscriber, you get a badge visible next to your name when you comment anywhere on my page^^
- You can even download my page as an app :grin: 

Link to my page: https://celastos-shop.fourthwall.com/

Join the Official Lunar Legacy Discord!
You can also expect some fun new things like polls about different story elements and more community interaction!
Discord Link: https://discord.gg/Uduxc48wfm

-------

Turns out I only took half a month off because I was busy setting all this up xD
Thank you again for your patience during my exam break. Arc 2 is going to be amazing, and I can't wait to share it with you!  

"Welcome to the Reckoning, Celvian."

The words hung in the air.

No one spoke.

The red-haired woman's fury remained palpable but silent. The older man's jaw set, but he nodded once in acceptance. Even Draven, despite the rage clear in his posture, said nothing more.

The matter was settled.

"Before we discuss anything else," the hooded figure - Veyron - said, his voice carrying quiet authority that made everyone straighten slightly, "the boy needs healing."

The woman with blonde hair moved from her position near the wall. She approached with measured steps, her expression carefully neutral as she stopped before him.

"May I?" Her voice was professional, distant.

Cel's jaw tightened. Every instinct screamed not to let anyone touch him, not to show weakness, not to—

"It's just healing," she continued, reading his hesitation. "Nothing more."

He gave her a curt nod.

Her hands lifted, hovering inches from his chest. Warmth spread through his torso - not the searing heat of the worm's breath, but something deeper that hummed beneath his skin. The throbbing ache in his ribs eased. The torn flesh across his back knitted together. Even the deeper injuries - the ones he'd been ignoring - began to fade.

It took perhaps thirty seconds.

When she stepped back, Cel could breathe without pain for the first time since Esrin had thrown him across the wasteland.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She inclined her head once, then returned to her position without a word.

"Now then." Veyron's attention fixed on him fully. "You've been invited to join an organization you know nothing about. That hardly seems fair."

Cel remained silent, waiting.

"The Reckoning exists for a singular purpose," Veyron continued. "We hunt those who abuse their power. Chosen Ones who believe divine favor places them above consequence. Those who commit atrocities knowing their power protects them."

The words settled in Cel's chest with uncomfortable weight.

"We kill them," Draven added with a grin. "When the law fails. And it always fails for the powerful. We don't."

"You're assassins," Cel said flatly.

"We're justice," Esrin corrected, her tone brooking no argument. "For victims who have none."

"We operate on a ranking system," Lucien said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Based on strength, not birthright or politics."

"Rank one is the strongest," Silas added, gesturing at Veyron. "All the way down to rank ten." His gaze shifted to the small girl in the oversized chair. "Which will always be—"

"Me. Yes. I know." Hina crossed her arms. "Every time someone joins, I get bumped down again. Thanks for that.”

Something tightened in Cel's chest. Strength, not birth, not bloodline.

Everything the Sun Clan wasn't.

"Since we're doing introductions," the older man near the wall spoke up, his rough voice carrying the weight of experience, "I'm Ronan. Fifth Reckoning. Graveyard's Orphan. Life Clan."

The young man by the fire straightened. "Silas Mortbane. Eighth Reckoning. Death's Friendliest Face." His grin was infectious despite the gravity of the situation. "Death Clan, obviously.”

"Iris Peakvault." The woman who'd healed him spoke quietly. "Seventh Reckoning. Veiled Crag. Mountain Clan."

Her posture shifted subtly when she spoke - shoulders drawing inward slightly, gaze lowering. The change was so minute Cel almost missed it.

"Zara." The red-haired woman's voice came sharp as broken glass. "Sixth Reckoning. Wrath's Only Daughter. Mountain Clan as well." Her blue eyes carried naked contempt. "Try not to die immediately."

"Already did that," Cel said before he could stop himself.

Silence stretched for a heartbeat. Then Silas laughed - genuine and bright.

"Oh, I like him already."

"Draven Goldwind," the brash man said, his tone carrying casual arrogance. "Third Reckoning. Goldreaver. Mercenary Guild." He gestured at himself with a flourish. "Also the wealthiest person in this room, but that's hardly relevant."

The small girl piped up again. "Hina! Tenth Reckoning - formerly ninth but apparently not anymore!" She crossed her arms with theatrical indignation. "Small Tyrant. I work for the Royal House as Palace Administrator." A pause. "I should have voted for your death."

The comment was so absurd, delivered with such genuine petulance, that something in Cel's chest loosened slightly. Not quite humor - but close.

"Lucien Stellarion," the young man with tired eyes said from his chair. "Fourth Reckoning. Dreamfall. Second Prince of the Empire."

The presence of royalty made this whole organization even more impossible. What kind of group could command a prince's loyalty?

"Esrin." The woman who'd brought him here spoke with quiet authority. "Second Reckoning. Shattered Sky. Chosen Legion."

The hooded figure's presence seemed to intensify slightly. "Veyron Nethis. First Reckoning. Eschaton."

Cel's mind was already cataloging information, filing away details. An organization that hunted corrupt Chosen. Members from various Clans - even the Mercenary Guild and Royal House.

The strength assembled here was utterly insane. The Mercenary King himself. An imperial prince. A Hallowed, who could challenge an entire Great Clan alone - and she was only second in command.

This was enough power to topple the empire.

Veyron's attention returned to him. "You'll need a codename. Take your time to consider."

Cel's thoughts scattered immediately. A codename. Something that would define him in this organization.

White Death surfaced first - one of his paragons. It felt right. Cold. Absolute. A name that carried weight.

Heir to the Moon was out - too revealing.

Frostmark? No - too specific.

His mind circled back to White Death. The name settled in his chest with quiet certainty.

Yes. That felt right.

But before he could speak—

"Now," Veyron's tone shifted, becoming more businesslike, "to the matter at hand. Esrin?"

The white-haired woman's expression remained impassive. "I tracked the Prince of Death to the Ashlands. But the search yielded nothing."

Prince of Death.

His mind raced backward, dragging up half-forgotten lessons from his childhood education. The Death Clan. House Mortveil - the leading Noble House within the Clan. Their heir had been... what was the name?

Fragments surfaced. A prodigy. Good reputation even among the nobility, who were notoriously difficult to please. The last news had been about an expedition. The prince and his father had led a group into the destroyed Western Continent for an investigation in the Emperor's name.

That had been... a year ago? Maybe more?

Wait.

A year. The same amount of time Raven said he'd been trapped in the Hollow Realms.

The implications crashed through his thoughts with terrible clarity.

The young man who'd helped him in the Ashlands. The one who moved with practiced grace, who knew exactly how to survive in that nightmare realm.

Raven was the Prince of Death.

And these people wanted him dead.

Cel's jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists at his sides, hidden within Cinderward's cloak.

'He helped me.' The thought came fierce and absolute. 'Saved my life. Without expecting anything in return.'

And now he sat in a room with nine people who would kill Raven on sight if they found him.

"The Prince of Death is our highest priority target," Veyron continued, his tone unchanged. "A Cursed infiltrating the Sun Clan's stronghold shouldn't be possible."

"And yet he managed it," Draven said, genuine appreciation cutting through his words. "Killed their greatest prodigy, a boy of House Solaris. The one with a Divine Oracle as his guide."

"We don't know what he's hiding," Zara cut in sharply. "That's the problem. A Cursed shouldn't have that kind of power."

"But he does," Ronan's gravelly voice added. "Which means either he retained something he shouldn't have, or he's found something new. Either way—"

"He's dangerous," Veyron finished. "And unpredictable. That combination requires caution."

The words settled over Cel like ice water.

So Raven had returned from the expedition as one of the Cursed. Then he'd somehow infiltrated the Sun Clan's stronghold - a fortress that should have been impenetrable - and killed their greatest prodigy. Someone blessed enough to have a Divine Oracle as their guide - just like Cel.

A dark satisfaction flickered through his chest before he could suppress it. The Sun Clan had suffered. Good.

But the satisfaction couldn't drown out the questions burning in his mind. 'What happened on that expedition to make him Cursed? What drove him to kill their prodigy?'

Cel forced his breathing to remain steady, his expression neutral. Every instinct screamed to defend Raven, to argue, to demand answers.

Yet revealing his connection would doom them both.

'If they knew I'd been traveling with him...' The thought sent ice through his veins.

So he stayed silent, letting the discussion wash over him while his mind churned.

"We'll wait for him to surface again," Veyron said finally. "Esrin, you'll face him when he does."

She nodded once.

His gaze swept across the room. "The rest of you - if you spot him, track but do not engage. Only intervene if absolutely necessary."

Murmurs of acknowledgment rippled through the gathered members.

Veyron's attention returned to him. "Your codename?"

Cel met his gaze. "White Death."

A pause. Then Draven laughed - sharp and approving. "Dramatic. I like it."

"Your paragon?" Silas asked, genuine curiosity in his green eyes.

"Yes."

"Well then, White Death," Veyron said, and there was something almost approving in his tone. "Let me welcome you again, Ninth Reckoning."

The moment felt significant despite its simplicity. Cel nodded once.

"How old are you, Celvian?" Veyron asked.

"Sixteen."

A pause.

"That’s perfect. You'll be enrolled in the Chosen Academy."

Cel blinked. "What?"

"The Academy trains young Chosen," Hina piped up, her earlier petulance forgotten. "All Chosen attend."

"Which makes it the perfect place for you to grow stronger," Veyron added.

"My task there?" Cel asked carefully.

"Observe the other Chosen. Report any concerning behavior. Protect them from external threats." Veyron's tone made it clear this wasn't negotiable. "And become stronger."

The unspoken message was clear: Prove you deserve to be here.

"Esrin will escort you," Veyron continued. "Since she brought you here, she'll ensure you arrive safely."

The white-haired woman's expression didn't change, but something in her posture suggested this wasn't unexpected.

"When do I leave?" Cel asked.

"Immediately." The Academy begins in ten days. That gives you time to settle in."

Cel nodded slowly, processing. The Academy. Where all Chosen trained. Where he'd once dreamed of being sent, back when his father's approval still mattered.

The irony was bitter.

"Any questions?" Veyron asked.

Hundreds. But Cel couldn't voice the ones that mattered most.

Instead, he said: "No."

"Then we're done here." Veyron rose from his seat with fluid grace. "Esrin, prepare for departure. The rest of you, dismissed."

The meeting dissolved. Members rose and headed for the door, some casting final glances at Cel - curious, assessing, hostile.

Silas paused on his way past. "Welcome to the team, White Death. And don't mind Zara's glare - she's like that with everyone."

"Heard that," Zara called from across the room.

"Good!" Silas flashed a grin before disappearing through the door.

Soon, only Cel and Esrin remained.

She stood by the fireplace, her ruby eyes fixed on him with that same measuring intensity that had nearly gotten him killed earlier.

Esrin moved toward the door without a word.

Cel followed.

They stepped out of the manor into the crackling void. The floating island was as it had been - dark stone beneath his feet, violet emptiness stretching in every direction.

Esrin stopped on the edge of the island.

A rift appeared without ceremony - a gash in the air that shouldn't exist, its edges crackling with violet energy.

She crossed the threshold without pause.

Cel followed before he could reconsider.

The rift swallowed them whole.

This time, Cel knew what to expect. The violent inversion of reality. The way gravity became meaningless. He kept his eyes fixed on Esrin's back and let the chaos wash over him without fighting it.

It ended faster than before.

Solid ground materialized beneath his feet.

Cel's vision cleared by degrees.

They stood in what appeared to be an abandoned bar. But calling it forgotten would be more accurate.

Dust coated every surface in thick layers - tables, chairs, the long counter that dominated one wall. Bottles lined shelves behind the bar, their labels faded beyond recognition. Cobwebs stretched between rafters overhead, swaying slightly as they disturbed the stale air.

The windows had been boarded over from the outside, gaps between planks allowing only narrow shafts of light to cut through the darkness.

Esrin moved toward what Cel assumed was the front door - a heavy wooden thing with iron fittings that had gone to rust.

She gripped the handle and pulled.

The door tore open with a shriek of protesting metal.

Light spilled through the widening gap - real light, golden and warm. Sound followed. Distant at first, then growing clearer as the door swung fully open.

Voices. Laughter. The clatter of wheels on cobblestone.

<You have achieved something extraordinary: You entered a new dimension.>

<You have received the trait "Eternal Witness".>

‘What?’

Not the Hollow Realms. Not his world.

Something else entirely.

His gaze swept across the floating island - perhaps two hundred paces across, irregular in shape. The ground beneath his feet was solid stone, dark and pitted as if carved from a single massive slab.

The manor rose at the island's center - three stories of dark stone and timber, windows glowing with warm light that seemed wrong against the crackling void beyond.

Behind him, the rift sealed with a sound like tearing silk played backward.

Violet light collapsed inward, edges crackling as they consumed themselves. Within seconds, nothing remained but the void.

No way back.

The realization settled in his chest like ice.

Esrin's boots clicked against stone as she moved toward the manor without a word. Not checking if he followed. Simply expecting it.

Cel's legs obeyed before his mind caught up, carrying him after her.

Esrin's hand met the manor's door and pushed it open in one smooth motion.

Warmth spilled out - actual warmth, impossible in this place. Light painted the threshold in gold.

Esrin stepped through.

Cel hesitated at the entrance, his pulse quickening.

Then he crossed into light and the sight of nine figures arranged throughout what appeared to be a common room.

His breath caught.

Ashen-blue hair gleamed near a window, catching firelight. The man stood with casual arrogance, light yellow eyes tracking the room with predatory amusement.

'Draven Goldwind.'

The Mercenary King. Leader of the only organization that rivaled the Great Clans in power and influence.

Cel's gaze snapped to the figure seated in a chair near the fireplace. Ashen brown hair, dark green eyes that carried exhaustion like a physical weight.

'Lucien Stellarion.'

The second prince of the Stellarion Empire. The one nobles spoke of in tones mixing disappointment and reluctant longing.

Here.

With Draven Goldwind.

The contradiction made his thoughts fracture. The Royal House and the Mercenary Guild maintained cordial relations at best - careful neutrality that could shatter into conflict with one wrong move. Seeing representatives of both powers in the same room was unusual.

His gaze swept across the others.

A small girl sat in an oversized chair, feet dangling above the floor. She straightened as their eyes met, chin lifting with unexpected dignity despite her childlike stature.

Near the far wall, a red-haired woman stood rigid, arms crossed. Blue eyes locked onto him with naked contempt, her entire posture screaming barely restrained contempt.

Beside her, an older man leaned against the stone. Weathered face, scars visible even in the firelight. He watched Cel the way someone watches a potential threat - calm, assessing, ready.

A young man, perhaps Raven's age, lounged near the fire with blue hair that caught hints of purple in the light. Green eyes studied Cel with open curiosity, head tilted slightly as if examining something interesting.

A woman with blond hair held herself with perfect stillness near the opposite wall, her expression carefully neutral.

And at the center—

A hooded figure. Dark fabric concealed most of his face, but reddish-brown eyes gleamed from within the shadow. Authority radiated from him despite the concealment.

All of them turned as Esrin entered.

"Well, well." Draven's voice carried across the room, amused. "Back already? Don't tell me the Prince of Death gave you—"

His gaze found Cel.

Silence crashed down.

Nine pairs of eyes fixed on him with varying degrees of surprise, confusion, and - in some cases - hostility.

The small girl's feet stopped swinging.

The young man by the fire straightened slightly.

Even the still woman shifted her attention.

"Esrin." The red-haired woman spoke, blue eyes narrowing. "Who is this?"

Draven's laugh cut through the quiet - sharp and mocking. "Oh, this is rich. The great Esrin brings home a stray."

Esrin ignored him. "This is Celvian. A Chosen of the Moon Goddess whom the Children of the Voidmother threw into the Hollow Realms to seal a rift."

The information hung in the air.

"A Chosen?" The older man's voice was rough, skeptical. "Moon Chosen are weak. How did he survive?"

"That's irrelevant." Draven stepped forward. "He's seen our faces. That makes him a risk." His hand drifted to summon his weapon. "He dies. Simple as that."

Cel's body went rigid, hand moving toward where Silent Moon could manifest—

"I want him to join the Reckoning." Esrin's statement cut through the rising tension.

Draven barked a laugh. "Join? You can't be serious."

"He's a Chosen One," Esrin continued. "He was thrown into the Hollow Realms and survived. That demonstrates capability."

"Does it?" Draven gestured at Cel with casual dismissal. "Everyone here can sense that this boy has no divine energy. Not even a whisper." His grin widened. "So either he's the weakest Chosen to ever exist, or he's not Chosen at all."

The words landed with sickening weight.

Cel had known he couldn't sense his own divine energy. Had struggled with that limitation since receiving his blessing.

But to not even possess it?

His mind raced. That made no sense. He could use Frostmark. Could manifest Silent Moon and Cinderward. If he had no divine energy at all, how—

"Haha, yeah!" The small girl's voice dripped with exaggerated enthusiasm. "We can all sense it so clearly. It's super obvious to everyone here!"

Draven's attention snapped to her, his grin sharpening. "Sorry, I meant nearly all." The correction was pointed. Cruel. "Those of us who actually have divine favor, at least."

The girl's expression darkened, but she said nothing.

"It's the armor," Esrin said, drawing attention back. "An artifact that suppresses his divine signature. I witnessed him using an authority - ice-based power. He is a Chosen."

"An artifact that completely masks divine energy?" The young man by the fire leaned forward, interest sparking in his green eyes. "That's... actually impressive."

"Or it's a lie." The red-haired woman spoke for the first time, her voice sharp as broken glass. "Why should we trust anything she says about him?"

"Because I have no reason to lie." Esrin's tone remained neutral. "Killing him serves no purpose. He's young, inexperienced, and was thrown into the Hollow Realms by a cult we all want destroyed. Making him an ally makes more strategic sense than making him a corpse."

"Strategic sense?" Draven's laugh was harsh. "What's strategic about adding dead weight to—"

"Vote." Lucien's voice came quietly from his chair, almost resigned. "That's how this works."

Silence fell as attention turned inward.

The older man spoke first. "Kill him. We don't need complications."

The red-haired woman's voice came sharp and immediate. "Agreed."

Draven's grin widened. "Obviously kill him."

The still woman with blond hair simply nodded once.

Four votes to kill.

"He should join." Esrin's statement was flat. Final.

"Agreed," Lucien said quietly, dark green eyes tracking between Cel and the others.

The young man by the fire straightened, blue-purple hair shifting. "I vote for joining too. He survived the Hollow Realms at such a young age. That's worth something."

The small girl's feet swung once. "I think he should join! Anyone who makes Draven this annoyed can't be all bad!"

Four votes each way.

The central figure remained silent, his gaze tracking between Cel and the others with careful assessment.

The silence stretched.

"Four to four," Draven said quietly. "Which means Veyron decides. And we all know he's practical."

He moved.

"So why don't we skip the formality and I'll just kill the boy now?"

Esrin blocked his path.

"Touch him, and you'll lose your hand."

Draven laughed, genuinely delighted. "Should I test that?"

The temperature dropped.

White lightning began to crackle across Esrin's shoulders, arcing down her arms. Her ruby eyes held nothing - no anger, no fury. Just cold, absolute promise.

"He's a child," she continued. "A child thrown into the Hollow Realms by a cult. And you want to murder him because it's convenient."

Draven's grin widened, golden light erupting around him like a solar flare. "I want to kill him because he's a risk we don't need." He leaned forward slightly, matching her intensity. "But please, continue the moral lecture. It's adorable."

The manor groaned.

Divine energy pressed against divine energy - white lightning meeting golden radiance. The floor beneath them cracked. Windows rattled. Books tumbled from shelves as the building itself protested the weight of their power.

"Enough."

The older man's voice cut through the pressure - rough, worn, but carrying the weight of someone who'd survived worse than this.

He hadn't moved from his position against the wall, but his weathered face held no fear. Just tired disgust.

"This is why we vote," he said flatly. "To avoid this." His gaze tracked between them. "So let Veyron decide."

The pressure didn't dissipate immediately.

Esrin and Draven remained locked in their standoff, lightning and gold still blazing around them.

Then Esrin's energy pulled back. Not slowly - just gone, as if someone had closed a door.

Draven held his power for a heartbeat longer, eyes studying her. Then the golden glow faded, leaving only the man beneath.

His grin returned, casual and mocking. "How disappointing."

He turned away without another word, moving back to his position near the window.

The cracks in the floor remained. Evidence of how close they'd come.

Cel's pulse hammered in his throat. His hand trembled slightly as it dropped from tension.

The central figure - Veyron - had watched the entire exchange without moving. Now his gaze settled on Cel with renewed assessment.

Cel's throat worked. Words formed before conscious thought caught up.

"My priestess is a Divine Oracle."

The statement landed like a stone into still water.

Draven's laugh came immediately. "Of course she is. And I'm secretly the Mountain God in disguise."

But Veyron had gone still.

Not frozen. Just... perfectly motionless. His attention fixed on Cel with sudden, sharp intensity.

"Describe her." The command came quiet but absolute.

Cel's pulse quickened. "White robes. Silver mask covering the upper half of her face. Long silver hair. She..." He hesitated, then pushed through. "She's the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

Silence answered him.

Veyron studied him for what felt like eternity.

Then his lips curved - not quite a smile, but close.

"Welcome to the Reckoning, Celvian."