The caravan rolled slow through the whitened world, wheels half-submerged in snow, the wooden frame creaking in a steady rhythm like an old heart refusing to stop. The canvas above their heads swayed with the wind's insistence, every gust pressing pale light through the seams and filling the interior with a shifting, muted glow.
Outside, the landscape slid by in long strokes of white and grey: skeletal trees, frost-hardened shrubs, distant ridges fading into fog. The sky was a low, oppressive lid—no stars visible, but their unseen presence pressing down like fate quietly watching.
Inside, warmth was thin but present.
Bodies.
Breath.
A shared space of six souls in a wooden box moving toward different futures.
Kel sat with his back to the right canvas wall, knees slightly angled to accommodate the bow laid beside him. Reina was at his right, posture straight even seated, gloved hands resting lightly over her knees. Landon sat across from them, one hand draped loosely near his sword hilt, his weight balanced despite the jostle.
Opposite Kel, Mara lounged in brutish comfort—one leg bent, axe resting within easy reach, her back pressed against a crate. Baird sat beside her, spine relaxed but eyes alert, one hand absently tracing sigils along his staff's shaft. Lysia, closest to the front, sat with her cloak pulled tighter around her, pale hair tucked behind one ear, long fingers wrapped around the carved wood of her staff as if it were an extension of her.
Beyond the thin wooden partition, Jace and Torren rode on the driver's bench, shapes outlined against vague light, voices muffled by wind and canvas.
For a time, only the sounds of travel filled the air.
Wheels grinding.
Leather creaking.
Breath ghosting white.
Then Jace's voice carried back through the open front slit, casual and clear.
"So," he called over his shoulder, "what constellations did you choose at Awakening?"
His tone was light.
The question was not.
Kel's eyes shifted.
Landon blinked.
Reina's fingers stilled.
Jace leaned back a fraction where he sat beside Torren, turning his head enough that one sharp brown eye could peer into the caravan's dim interior.
"You're all of age or near enough," he added. "Always useful to know what sky your companions carry on their backs."
Torren made a low sound of agreement, hands steady on the reins.
The question hung there a moment.
Reina's gaze moved first—to Kel.
Kel met it briefly.
Then answered without retreat.
"I am thirteen," he said, voice calm, the slightest mist of breath rising with the words. "My Awakening is in two years."
The canvas seemed to tighten with the wind.
Mara's brows lifted.
Baird exhaled softly through his nose.
Lysia's attention sharpened.
Jace whistled under his breath.
"Two years, hm?" he mused. "Then the sky hasn't claimed you yet."
His eye lingered.
As if that fact alone made Kel interesting in a different way.
Kel's expression didn't change.
He simply inclined his head.
Reina spoke next.
Her tone was composed, stripped bare of unnecessary inflection—but beneath the surface, something taut flickered.
"I have three months before I must choose," she said. "My Awakening has already occurred. My selection has not."
Mara tilted her head, interest obvious now.
"Putting it off?" she asked. "That's rare. Most lunge for whatever looks brightest when the priest starts chanting."
Reina's lips curved by a fraction. Not a smile.
Not quite.
"I do not enjoy chains hastily chosen," she replied.
Baird chuckled quietly.
Landon shifted slightly, cloak rustling.
"Dormant Mountain," he said simply.
All heads turned his way.
He held their gaze.
Unembarrassed.
"I chose the Dormant Mountain constellation when I awakened," he continued. "Three responded. I picked the one that felt least likely to lie."
Mara let out a short, surprised laugh at that.
"Least likely to lie?" she echoed.
Landon shrugged, the movement plain.
"It promised I would be slow," he said. "That I would be hard to move. That my strength would come late, if at all. It did not promise glory."
A small breath fogged the air in front of him.
"Promises like that… feel more honest."
Torren's low rumble drifted back from the front.
"Hnh. That's a good reason."
Jace smirked.
"Of course you'd approve of that one," he muttered.
The path creaked beneath the caravan.
Snow crunched.
The interior warmed slightly with living breath and the rhythm of conversation.
Kel's gaze slid to Jace's silhouette.
"You've asked us," he said quietly. "Now it's your turn."
His words were plain.
Unadorned.
"How many constellations answered you at Awakening? Which did you choose? And which tier are you currently walking?"
Baird's mouth twitched, amused.
Mara's eyes gleamed.
Lysia's fingers tightened on her staff.
Jace laughed once—short, not mocking, more like he'd expected that pivot.
"Fair," he said. "You're right."
He leaned back more fully, turning until his profile was outlined in the slit of light.
"I awakened at sixteen," he began. "Bit late. First attempt, nothing answered. The priest looked like he'd swallowed a stone."
A pause.
"Second ritual, a year later… five constellations reacted."
Kel watched the way Jace's shoulders eased as he spoke—not with pride, more with the familiarity of an old memory repeated often enough to dull its edges.
"Crimson Hound.Edge of Dawn.The Second Spear.Silent Ember. …and Threshold Wolf."
At the naming of Threshold Wolf, something in the air seemed to tighten.
A liminal constellation.
A pathwalker.
He went on.
"Crimson Hound promised blood and loyalty. Second Spear was about finishing fights others started."
His mouth curved.
"I was tempted."
Mara snorted. "You still are."
Jace ignored her.
"But Threshold Wolf drew strongest," he said. "A guardian of borders, they called it. Feet always near lines others don't want crossed. Protector… or predator, depending on which side you stand."
Kel's eyes narrowed a fraction.
A constellation of liminal spaces… of edges. A duelist of boundaries.
"So I chose that," Jace finished. "Tier Three by nineteen. Tier Four now—early Celestial Growth. Not high. Not low. Enough to keep breathing, with effort."
He spoke of his tier like he would speak of weather.
No arrogance.
No false humility.
Just assessment.
Torren cleared his throat.
"Four constellations responded for me," he rumbled. "Iron Bulwark.Vigilant Wall.Endless March.Southward Star."
Kel's memory flickered.
Vigilant Wall.
One Landon had not chosen.
"I chose Vigilant Wall," Torren continued. "Others wanted me to pick Endless March—better for campaign work. But I prefer holding one place properly over wandering."
His hands adjusted on the reins, grip relaxed but unyielding.
"Tier Four. Mid-level. My constellation favors endurance over attack. I stand. I don't fall. That is enough."
The words fit him.
Exactly.
Kel had already thought of him that way.
Hearing the star's name merely confirmed it.
Mara rolled her shoulders, the leather of her armor creaking faintly.
"Five responded for me," she said, almost lazily. "Burning Ram.Twin Hammers.Split Fang.Broken Crown. …and Howl of the Charge."
Kel's gaze sharpened at Broken Crown.
Reina's lashes twitched.
Rebellion's star, Kel thought. A path that gnaws at hierarchy.
Mara's grin was feral.
"Priest wanted me to take Twin Hammers," she said. "Balanced. Stable. Future of a respectable combatant."
She shrugged.
"So I picked Burning Ram instead."
Of course she did.
"Tier Three at first winter. Now clawing at Tier Four. Divergence examiners told me to be careful. Said my branch was leaning too close to berserker archetypes."
Her eyes glittered.
"I told them I've always been careful."
Baird made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh.
"You said that while putting your fist through a training post," he reminded her.
She waved him off dismissively.
Lysia shifted slightly where she sat, drawing her cloak closer.
Her gaze had been outward, on the passing snow, but Kel could tell she'd been listening to every word.
When she finally spoke, her voice was low and cool, as if it rose from beneath ice.
"Three constellations answered me," she said. "Frost Veil.Still Mirror. …and Frost Crow."
At that last name, Kel's eyes slid almost imperceptibly toward Reina.
Her face did not change.
But a tiny pulse beat at her throat.
Frost Crow.
One of the five that waited for her.
"I chose Frost Veil," Lysia went on. "It offered cover. Delay. The ability to slow the world just enough to make a choice."
Her fingers, pale and long, tightened briefly around her staff.
"Frost Crow was… tempting. Omen paths are powerful. But I did not want my life built around foretelling others' deaths. I prefer softening the ground others must walk—or slowing what chases them."
Her gaze dropped momentarily to the caravan floorboards.
"Tier Three. Stable. No divergence signs yet."
Baird tapped his staff lightly on the floor.
"Six constellations," he said. "Listening Stone.Deep Root Serpent.Wandering Lantern.Hunter's Grove.Tremor Spine. …and The Archivist's Quill."
Kel's brows barely moved.
That last one— an oddity.
Scholar-path.
"Everyone assumed I'd pick Archivist's Quill," Baird continued wryly. "They thought I'd lock myself in a tower and categorize the world while others bled."
His eyes glinted with humor.
"I chose Listening Stone."
Torren nodded once.
"That fits you," he said.
Baird shrugged.
"I like feeling how the ground responds to footsteps. How structures hold weight. Listening Stone taught me that everything leaves tremors behind. I just… read them."
He exhaled.
"Tier Four, early. I can shatter weak terrain or stabilize unstable ground. I am less useful against flying enemies, but we rarely take those contracts."
Silence settled for a heartbeat.
The caravan bumped over a hidden rock, jostling them.
Snow brushed against the canvas walls in restless whispers.
Kel let the revealed paths settle in his mind.
Threshold Wolf.
Vigilant Wall.
Burning Ram.
Frost Veil.
Listening Stone.
All chosen for reasons that matched their wielders.
All paths weaving their own subtle chains through soul, thought, and behavior.
He spoke at last.
Quiet.
Measured.
"You all chose constellations that reflected who you already were."
Mara snorted softly.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Kel's eyes lowered briefly.
"It is… natural," he said. "To move toward familiar shapes, even in the sky."
His fingertips brushed the bowstring beside him.
"But when the sky offers something that matches you exactly, it also means it will be easier, later, to forget where it ends and you begin."
The words lingered.
Baird's gaze turned thoughtful.
Lysia's eyes flickered.
Jace let out a quiet breath.
"And you," he said. "You'll be standing under that same sky in two years. What will you do then?"
Kel's lips almost curved.
But the expression never fully formed.
"I will decide then," he said. "With all information available."
Reina's head angled by the slightest degree.
She was listening more intently now.
"And you?" Lysia's question shifted gently, her gaze settling on Reina. "You said your choice is three months away. Do you know which chain you will choose?"
Reina's hands folded together lightly, fingers interlacing slowly, as if wrapping around something invisible.
Her eyes were distant for a moment.
Then focused.
"No," she said. "Not yet."
Mara scoffed.
"Not even leaning?"
Reina's gaze cut to her.
Calm.
Blade-sharp.
"If I lean," she said, "the world will push."
She let out a thin, controlled breath.
"I will choose when I have enough strength that the path I walk cannot drag me entirely away from myself."
Silence followed.
The kind that carried respect.
A faint smile twisted at the corner of Jace's mouth.
"You three," he said, "speak of constellations like contracts signed in blood."
Kel's eyes remained on the pale strip of sky visible between canvas and wood.
"Aren't they?" he asked softly.
He could feel the unseen stars above the thick cloud.
Waiting.
Watching.
Always ready to call someone theirs.
Reina watched him from the side.
Landon's jaw tightened in quiet agreement.
The caravan rolled on.
Outside, the world remained white and indifferent.
But inside that swaying, cramped space— beneath a sky that had already claimed five of the six, and waited patiently for the other one—
three paths of star-bound souls and one path of deliberate refusal moved together, if only for a short while.