The morning of the awakening ceremony dawned without sunlight.
A hush settled over Vanhart Territory like the exhale of an ancient beast. Winter mist coiled low across the stone roads, and the sky pressed down in layers of cold grey—thick, unmoving, like an unlit canvas waiting to be breached.
No birds sang.
No wind moved.
It felt as though the world was holding its breath.
Within the city's central plaza, the Temple of Stars stood silent and veiled by frost. Tall pillars carved with constellations rose like fingers reaching for a sky they no longer remembered. Between them, pale sigils glowed gently along ancient altar stones, forming a perfect circle. Inside that circle—etched with all eighty-eight constellations recognized since the First Era—the awakening would take place.
Dozens gathered on the periphery, draped in ceremonial winter cloaks. Masters of star arts, nobles, and family representatives stood with careful posture. A soft tension rippled among them—the kind reserved for witnessing destiny take shape.
Among them were Kel, Count Edward Vanhart, and Reina.
Kel wore a black high-collared coat, quiet but refined, hands clasped behind his back as his eyes traced the sigil patterns carved into stone. He spoke little. His presence felt too still, too controlled—like ice bound beneath pressure.
Reina stood only two steps behind him, in formal training attire lined with silver thread. Today, she bore no weapons. Her dark hair was tied into a clean braided knot, the curve of her jaw taut with restraint.
She did not tremble.
But the air around her did.
Her steps were measured as she entered the temple courtyard, but every breath she took ran sharp across her lungs, as if inhaling the cold of the altar stones themselves.
Landon and Sera stood beside the count at a respectful distance. Sera watched with quiet curiosity, having never undergone awakening. Landon's gaze followed Reina with the calm understanding of a comrade witnessing the moment before transformation.
Even the temple officiants looked toward Kel with subtle glances—as if the presence of a Rosenfeld heir, though appearing as Heral, pulsed with invisible influence.
Kel broke the silence at last.
"Have all participants gathered?"
A priest in ceremonial silver robes bowed lightly.
"There are six present for awakening this cycle," he replied. "Five trainees from Vanhart household, and Lady Reina Asheville, representative of House Rosenfeld—" the priest cast a glance toward Kel, "—under traveling alias."
Kel only nodded once.
No explanation.
Reina stepped forward.
Her boots touched the outer edge of the altar circle.
Every sigil along the ring flickered faintly in response—lights awakening from slumber, whispering as constellations remembered movement.
Kel's eyes narrowed.
They react this strongly to her presence.
He had expected resonance…
Just not this much.
The officiant spoke.
"Once you stand at the center, do not move. You must close your eyes, call your will forward. Do not chase the stars—let them answer you. Among those that respond, choose one. But only one."
Reina inhaled slowly.
Her heartbeat thrummed—
Steady.
Steady.
She lifted her gaze forward. Mist swayed around the altar, and the stone underfoot seemed to pulse like the veins of the earth.
Kel spoke suddenly, his voice reaching her before thought could form.
"Do not look for light," he said.
She turned her head slightly.
Kel's eyes met hers.
"Look," he continued, "for the one that looks back at you."
Reina stared at him for a long second.
Then she nodded.
Once.
Without speaking.
She stepped forward.
The moment her foot touched the inner circle—
The sigils flared.
A ripple of light surged across stone, flowing outward like starfire cascading in low tide. Murmurs rose among the clergy.
Kel's posture did not shift.
But his eyes sharpened.
Reina walked to the exact center.
Her final step landed with the softness of an unsheathed blade.
Silence returned.
The officiant raised his staff.
"Reina Asheville," he declared, "place of origin—Rosenfeld High House, though currently under Vanhart guardianship. Age—fifteen. First awakening."
He lowered the staff.
A faint chime rang through the air.
"You may begin."
Reina closed her eyes.
The world fell away.
—
Darkness.
Silence.
Then—
Stars.
Not in the sky.
Inside her.
A slow blossom of pale lights—constellation glyphs forming in the black of her mind's eye, each symbol circling around her consciousness like drifting embers.
Some flickered faintly.
Some shone brighter.
Of the eighty-eight, she felt the call of perhaps five.
Three.
Two.
Then only—
One.
Not the brightest.
Not the most dazzling.
It hovered subtly, pulsing with a rhythmic glow. It did not beckon. It did not urge.
It simply…
Watched.
Reina reached toward it.
No fear.
Only clarity.
Her consciousness extended gently, palms open—not grabbing, but accepting.
Who are you? she asked silently.
A voice like quiet wind through naked branches answered.
I am the constellation that marks those who wait without bending.
I am the star of the silent blade.
Her pulse steadied.
Her body in the physical world remained perfectly still.
She exhaled—
I choose you.
The star replied in silence.
Then rise with me.
—
In the real world—
Light erupted.
The altar's central sigil burst with a muted yet unyielding brilliance—silver-grey, like moonlight caught upon steel. The air trembled. Snow swirling through the courtyard lifted momentarily, suspended mid-fall.
Onlookers stiffened.
Landon's hand twitched toward his sword.
Sera stepped back half a pace.
Count Edward's eyes widen just slightly.
Kel…
Kel's gaze narrowed.
The constellation… Astra Noctis.
He recognized it.
One of the hidden constellations.
The Night Blade.
Rare.
Not celebrated. Not worshipped.
Its bearers known not for fame—
—but silence that fells kings.
A star lineage too subtle for those seeking glory.
Kel's lips curved faintly.
A fitting star… for someone who walks quietly forward.
Reina opened her eyes.
They glowed faintly.
Not golden.
Not bright.
But shimmering like frost lit by moonlight.
The officiant spoke with rare hesitation.
"Reina… choose your star."
She lowered her chin slightly.
Her lips parted.
"I have already."
The officiant hesitated.
Then looked toward Kel.
Kel did not blink.
He nodded once.
"The star has chosen."
The staff struck stone.
The sigil flared to full ignition.
Light spiraled around Reina, shaping the symbol of Astra Noctis upon her chest before slowly dissolving—a silent vow etched upon skin and spirit.
Reina stepped from the altar.
Not with the pride of one who has claimed power.
But with the weight of a vow she had accepted.
As she passed Kel, her gaze brushed his.
Her voice was low.
"…Will this path be enough?"
Kel looked back at her, unable to hide the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.
"For now," he replied, "it is yours."
A moment passed.
Then—
"When the day comes that it no longer is," his voice lowered further, "we will forge one beyond stars."
Her pulse stilled.
A quiet smile ghosted her lips—brief, almost unseeable.
"Yes," she whispered.
Snow began to fall again.
The ceremony concluded.
The others celebrated.
But in truth—
Only one awakening mattered.
And as the group left the temple, Kel walked a step ahead, hands in his pockets, gaze drifting upward at the blank sky.
No stars visible.
But he spoke softly anyway.
"To think… that you would answer her like that."
His eyes drifted.
"To think…"
He paused.
"…that I might break you one day."
Beside him, Reina walked silently, body wrapped in cold, star newly awakened.
Landon approached behind, quietly relieved.
Sera observed the exchange with a faint smile.
Neither spoke of the moment.
But they all felt it.
The constellations had made their move.
And Kel von Rosenfeld—
had already decided how to overturn them.