The capital had not seen light like this in a thousand years.
Silver dawn spilled across the city's towers, glinting off rooftops and rivers, and the people whispered one name in reverence.
Aster Caelum.
The Emperor who returned with starlight in his eyes.
He rode through the city gates in silence. No fanfare, no banners — only the soft hush of awe that followed him. The guards who saw him swore that the air shimmered faintly wherever his shadow fell. Even the cobblestones pulsed with quiet light.
Lyra walked beside his horse, still half in disbelief. "You shouldn't be alive," she whispered. "Your body stopped breathing for hours."
Aster's gaze stayed ahead. "Perhaps it's not only mine anymore."
She glanced up, uneasy. His eyes, once cold blue, now held threads of silver that shimmered like moving constellations. When he blinked, faint runes flickered beneath his skin.
It wasn't human — not entirely.
"Erian…" Lyra murmured, realization dawning.
Aster said nothing, but the corner of his mouth curved faintly — half-smile, half-pain.
They passed through the palace gates. The grand hall was silent, filled with the empire's highest council, priests, and generals. All bowed deeply as the Emperor approached the throne.
"Your Majesty," spoke High Chancellor Verran, voice shaking. "The empire believed you lost. The heavens themselves mourned. Yet you return clothed in light. What are we to call this… miracle?"
Aster's footsteps echoed against marble.
"Call it balance," he said softly. "The Veil demanded a bridge. It found one."
A murmur rippled through the hall. One priest dared to speak. "Your Majesty, you radiate celestial power. That light—it is not of mortal origin. Are you… still human?"
The question hung heavy.
Aster looked down at his hands — faint glimmers of starlight flickering beneath his skin like veins of living silver.
"Human," he said finally, "enough to love. Enough to bleed."
Then his voice deepened, resonant, carrying an undertone that wasn't entirely his. "But the stars walk beside me now."
The air trembled. A gust swept through the chamber, stirring the banners. Several courtiers dropped to their knees in awe.
Verran bowed low. "Then let the heavens bear witness. The Emperor of Starlight has risen."
That night, alone in the observatory, Aster stood beneath the open dome.
The stars glittered above — bright, endless, watching.
In his reflection on the glass floor, he could see both faces overlapping — his and Erian's — their light indistinguishable.
He spoke softly into the still air. "You can hear me, can't you?"
A faint warmth stirred in his chest — the crystal embedded near his heart pulsing once.
Then a voice, quiet but familiar, brushed his thoughts.
Always. You promised to live. I'll make sure you do.
Aster smiled faintly, his breath fogging against the cool night air. "You still sound like you're lecturing me."
Someone has to, Erian's voice teased gently. Then, softer: Do you regret it? Becoming this?
Aster closed his eyes. "No. Because this way, I can still reach you — even when the stars fall silent."
Above them, constellations shimmered — and one, faint but persistent, shifted into new shape: two figures standing hand in hand beneath a crown of light.
Erian's voice came again, tender, fading. Then let this world remember, Aster… Not for our sorrow, but for our beginning.
And for the first time since his return, Aster laughed — quiet, breathless, alive.
The sound carried through the tower, mingling with the song of the wind.
The Emperor of Starlight had finally come home.