Riven woke to expectation hanging in the air like fog, thick and heavy and impossible to ignore. He did not need anyone to tell him what day it was. The weight of it pressed against his chest before he had even opened his eyes, settling over him like physical burden that made breathing feel deliberate rather than automatic.
Today was the day. The third attempt. The final chance.
He lay there for a moment, violet hair splayed across pillows that were too soft, staring at the painted constellations that had become familiar over the past few days. His mind was surprisingly quiet. No racing thoughts or spiraling anxiety. Just steady awareness that after today everything would be different. One way or another his life would pivot on whatever happened in that Awakening Chamber.
'If I fail,' he thought with unusual calm, 'I might as well cut ties with this family entirely. Being left to fate isn't some gentle exile. It's being cast out, abandoned, stripped of resources and protection and name. Sent into a world where being a powerless Astravar is probably worse than never having been born one.'
The door opened and Esme entered, her timing perfect as always. She carried his morning tea and the careful neutral posture she had cultivated, but when she looked at him something in her hidden face seemed to shift. He could not see her expression behind that curtain of lemon green hair but her entire bearing changed, became less formal and more concerned.
She stood there for a long moment, just looking at him, and Riven wondered what she was thinking.
'Is he really going to do it today? Is he really going to try for the third time? Does he have any idea what failure means?'
What Riven did not know, could not know without being told, was that Esme cared more than servants were supposed to. As his personal attendant she had spent more time with him than he had spent with anyone else in this family. More than Lord Hugo who barely acknowledged his existence. More than his brothers who were always away on crusades or at the Academy. More than any of the Elders who viewed him as disappointing statistic rather than person.
She knew the original Riven better than anyone in the estate. Knew his habits and preferences and the quiet desperation that had marked his previous attempts. Knew almost everything about him. Though since he had survived that fever something had changed, something fundamental had shifted in ways she could not quite articulate but definitely felt.
The past few days had taught her that presently this Riven might not be entirely sure of himself, might doubt and question and struggle with uncertainty, but the look she saw on his face this morning could not be missed. She recognized that expression. Had seen it in mirrors during her own difficult moments. Had felt it burning in her chest when facing impossible choices.
Courage. That was what marked his features this morning. Not confidence exactly, not certainty of success, but willingness to face whatever came with spine straight and eyes open. Determination to try despite knowing failure was probable.
'If the Young Master is courageous enough to handle this,' Esme thought, setting down the tea tray with unusual care, 'then I won't dare sour his mood with worry or doubt. He needs support today, not additional burden.'
She moved through her duties with practiced efficiency, preparing his bath, laying out formal attire, maintaining the careful routine that had governed their mornings. But when she addressed him her voice carried the usual formal tone that suddenly grated against his nerves.
"Seventh Star, your bath is prepared."
Something in Riven cracked. The title that he had been hearing endlessly for days, repeated by every servant and guard and family member, emphasizing what he was supposed to be rather than who he actually was. It felt wrong today of all days, wrong coming from the one person who had spent the most time with him.
"Esme," he said, his voice carrying unusual edge. "You know me better than anyone in this estate. You've spent more time with me than my own father has. And yet you still call me Seventh Star. Why don't you just use my name?"
She froze, her entire posture going rigid with what looked like fear. "Young Master, I couldn't possibly. The family rules highly forbid it. I'm only mandated to call you one of two things. Seventh Star as your ceremonial title or Young Master as address of station. Using your given name would be grounds for severe punishment. My head would literally be taken."
'Of course,' Riven thought with frustration. 'Even something as simple as being called by name has rules and hierarchy and consequences. Everything in this family does. Even basic human interaction gets regulated.'
"Then Young Master," he said after considering, cringing internally at the formal address but recognizing it was better than the alternative. "Use Young Master. At least that sounds less like title I haven't earned and more like acknowledgment that I exist as person rather than just disappointment."
Relief flooded through Esme's posture. "Yes, Young Master. Thank you for being understanding."
She served his breakfast with renewed energy, the tension that had marked the morning dissipating slightly now that they had navigated that small conflict. After he had eaten she directed him to the bath. The water was perfect temperature, infused with oils and herbs that smelled of cedar and something sharper, almost medicinal.
Today she took extra time after his bath, properly combing and brushing his long violet hair that fell like mane when unbound. She worked through tangles with patient care, trying various styles, attempting to bring order to hair that seemed to have its own ideas about proper arrangement. Finally she admitted defeat in controlling it completely and simply packed it in a stylish way that emphasized its wild nature rather than fighting against it, pulling it back but letting strands frame his face. The effect was striking. Untamed but deliberately so.
Then came the ceremonial attire and Riven immediately wanted to protest. The outfit she laid out was far more formal than anything he had worn previously. Multiple layers of rich fabric in deep blacks and violets, silver threading worked into patterns that caught light like captured stars, a high collared coat that looked like it cost more than most people earned in years, polished shoes that gleamed like mirrors.
"This is too much," Riven said, eyeing the clothes with something approaching horror. "These are too formal. I'll look ridiculous. Can't I just wear normal noble attire?"
"Young Master, please," Esme's voice carried genuine distress. "This is the ceremonial dress required for awakening attempts. If you wear anything less formal than this, if you appear before the family in casual clothing, my head will be taken. They'll view it as disrespect to the ceremony, to the family, to the significance of what's happening today."
'Of course they will,' Riven thought with resignation. 'Everything has specific requirements, specific protocols, specific ways things must be done or heads literally roll. This family doesn't do anything casually.'
He looked at Esme's posture, the genuine fear radiating from her hidden face, and felt his resistance crumble. "Fine. Out of pity for you and your apparently very endangered head, I'll wear the ridiculous formal outfit. But if I look like I'm cosplaying as fantasy prince you only have yourself to blame."
She helped him dress, each layer adding weight and restriction. By the time she finished styling him completely he barely recognized himself in the mirror. The violet hair framed a face that looked older than fifteen, more mature. The formal attire emphasized his height and the lean muscle this body possessed. The silver threading caught light in ways that made him seem to shimmer slightly.
He looked like a prince straight out of a novel. Like someone preparing for life changing event rather than potential catastrophic failure. Like the kind of person who might actually succeed at awakening rather than fail for the third time. Appearances were deceiving but at least if he was going down he would go down looking the part.
"You look magnificent, Young Master," Esme said quietly, and he could hear genuine pride in her voice. Pride in her work certainly but maybe also pride in him for facing this with courage instead of despair.
They made their way through corridors that felt different today, charged with significance. The usual servants and guards they passed seemed to sense it too. Their greetings more subdued, their bows deeper. Everyone knew what today meant. Everyone understood that the Seventh Star was attempting awakening for what might be the final time.
As they approached the section of the estate where the Awakening Chamber was located, Riven noticed the hallways becoming vacant, empty of the usual traffic. The silence felt pregnant with meaning, heavy with implication. Today's event did not need extra eyes, did not require witnesses beyond those whose presence was mandated by protocol.
Soon they reached the doors, massive and ornate, carved with symbols that seemed to pulse with faint energy. Two guards manned the entrance, standing at attention with spears held across their chests. When they saw Riven approach they immediately pressed fists to hearts and bowed.
"We greet the Seventh Star," they intoned in unison, then one of them added with unusual warmth. "Good luck today, Young Master. May fortune smile upon your attempt."
Riven just smiled at them, the gesture felt tight but genuine.
'Today isn't left to luck,' he thought. 'Luck implies random chance. What happens today will be determined by biology and cosmic energy and whether this body can finally access what bloodline should guarantee. But they mean no harm with their wishes. At least for this I can be grateful.'
"Thank you," he said simply, and meant it.
Esme stopped beside him, her posture indicating this was as far as she could accompany him. "Young Master, this is where I must leave you. I cannot proceed beyond these doors. Servants aren't permitted in the Awakening Chamber during ceremonies."
She paused, her hidden face turning toward him fully. "I'm headed back to attend my other duties, but Young Master, I hope you finally get that one break you deserve. I hope today is the day everything changes."
The sincerity in her voice caught him off guard. Servants were not supposed to express personal investment in their charges' outcomes, were not supposed to care beyond professional obligation. But Esme clearly did. Had probably cared about the original Riven and now transferred that concern to whoever he had become after the fever.
"Thank you, Esme," Riven said, and waved her off before emotion could make this more complicated than it needed to be.
She retreated down the hallway, green hair swaying with each step, leaving him alone before the massive doors with two guards who would not meet his eyes and the weight of everything pressing down like atmosphere before storm.
Riven took a breath, steadied himself, and pushed open the doors.
The Awakening Chamber revealed itself in all its ceremonial grandeur. The room was large but not overwhelming, spacious enough to accommodate perhaps thirty people comfortably. The architecture spoke of age and significance. Stone walls carved with more of those pulsing symbols, high ceiling painted with murals depicting stellar phenomena and cosmic events.
On both sides of the room were raised platforms, elevated sections that provided clear view of the chamber's center. On the left platform were eight seats, simpler in design but still clearly expensive, crafted from dark wood and upholstered in black fabric. On the right platform were six seats that looked significantly richer, more ornate, carved with additional detail and upholstered in deep violet that matched the family colors.
'The left are the Circle of Elders,' Riven deduced immediately. 'Lord Hugo's siblings who manage the fifteen cities. And the right are the Grand Elders, his aunts and uncles, his parents' generation who hold power almost equal to his.'
At the far end of the room where the two platforms converged sat a throne, singular and elevated above everything else, carved from black stone that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, upholstered in silver fabric that shimmered like captured starlight, dominating the space through sheer presence even when empty.
'The Patriarch's seat,' Riven thought. 'Of course there's a throne even here. Even in a room designed for his children's ceremonies. The hierarchy must be maintained. The authority must be visible.'
At the center of the room was another raised platform, this one different from the seating areas, more decorative, more significant. It seemed to float slightly above the floor though that might have been optical illusion created by clever construction. And hovering above this central platform was what looked like an oval shell, roughly the size of a human torso. It pulsed with faint light, emanating energy that Riven could not feel directly but could sense indirectly through how the air around it seemed to shimmer and distort.
'The shard fragment,' he realized. 'That's the piece of stellar debris that grants Astravar bloodline. That's what I'll touch. That's what rejected me twice before.'
Beside the floating shell stood a raised dais, simpler in construction, and attached to it was an orb the size of a human head, perfectly spherical, made of crystal or glass or something that looked like both. It sat inert currently but Riven knew what it was.
'The talent measuring crystal,' he thought. 'Touch that after awakening and it reveals your color. Red through white. Determines your entire future in single moment of contact.'
He had barely finished scanning the room when the doors opened behind him and fourteen people entered. They wore formal robes that marked them as family, various shades of black and violet with silver accents. Some bore the distinctive violet hair of the Astravar bloodline in full vibrance. Others had hair that was pure white, not platinum blonde or silver but actual white, colorless.
'Grand Elders,' Riven deduced. 'Their hair lost color over their advanced age. They're probably decades older than Hugo, maybe approaching century if cultivation extends lifespan the way it seems to.'
The fourteen entered with measured steps, formal procession rather than casual arrival. They moved to their designated platforms, eight to the left, six to the right, and sat with synchronized precision that suggested this ceremony had happened countless times before. They all turned their attention toward him, eyes examining, assessing, judging before anything had even begun.
Riven paid them minimal attention. He was here for one purpose. To awaken or fail definitively. Their opinions did not matter. Their judgment could not change the outcome. Focusing on them would just add pressure he did not need.
Then movement at the doors caught his attention. A woman entered, walking with elegant grace and commanding presence that immediately drew every eye in the chamber. She was older, maybe late sixties or early seventies, black hair marked with distinguished grey streaks fell to her shoulders in a style that spoke of careful maintenance rather than vanity. Golden eyes assessed everything with sharp intelligence that missed nothing.
She carried herself with absolute confidence, the kind that came from knowing exactly what power she held and having no doubt about her right to wield it. Her robes were formal but distinctly different from the Elders, marked with silver embroidery that denoted her unique position within the family hierarchy.
'Tesha,' Riven remembered. Esme had mentioned her.
Lord Hugo's personal steward. She had served him since before he became Patriarch, back when he had still been a Star like Riven. When Hugo claimed the Patriarch position she had automatically become his right hand, elevated to head over all stewardship in the Astravar family. She was gatekeeper and administrator both. The person who managed the Patriarch's schedule, controlled access to his presence, oversaw the implementation of his decisions across fifteen cities.
But more than that, she held a status that transcended her role as servant. She was one of only two people in the entire family that Lord Hugo would not tolerate being insulted or disrespected in any way. The other was the Omega himself. Anyone who showed discourtesy to Tesha answered directly to the Patriarch, and his protection of her was absolute and well known.
The Elders, despite their considerable power, straightened slightly when she entered. Not out of fear but out of recognition. Tesha might not have cultivation that matched theirs, might not govern cities or advise on major family decisions, but she spoke with the Patriarch's voice when he was absent. Her word carried his authority. Her displeasure could become his anger.
She was untouchable in ways that even some of the Elders were not.
Tesha stepped forward, her golden eyes sweeping the chamber with professional assessment. She noticed immediately that the Patriarch's throne sat empty, as it should. Lord Hugo was away on urgent business with the First Star, matters that could not be delayed even for a third awakening attempt. But his absence did not diminish the ceremony's significance. Tesha's presence ensured that everything would proceed exactly as it should.
When she spoke her voice carried authority that had nothing to do with cultivation and everything to do with decades of managing the Patriarch's affairs.
"Today we are gathered here for the third awakening attempt of the Seventh Star." Her words rang clear and formal, marking the ceremony's beginning. "Though Lord Hugo Von Astravar is currently attending to urgent family business with the First Star, he has entrusted me to oversee this ceremony in his stead. His expectations remain as they have always been. Excellence. Nothing less."
She turned to face Riven directly, her expression neutral but not unkind, those golden eyes reading him with the same sharp assessment she probably applied to everything that crossed her path.
"Seventh Star, if you may."
She gestured toward the central platform, toward the floating oval shell that pulsed with primordial energy, toward the moment that would determine everything.
This was it. The moment he had been waiting for, dreading, anticipating, preparing for since waking in this body and learning what awakening meant. No more delays, no more preparation, no more time to wonder or worry or plan.
Just him and a fragment of dead star and fourteen family members watching to see if the disgrace would finally prove worthy. Just Riven and cosmic energy and the question of whether consciousness transfer had broken something fundamental or if this body simply could not access what bloodline should guarantee.
'Time to find out,' he thought, and took his first step toward the platform. 'Time to touch fire and see if it burns or ignites. Time to discover whether second chances mean anything or if some failures transcend lives and worlds and cosmic catastrophes.'
The chamber waited in absolute silence. Fourteen Elders watching. Tesha standing ready to officiate with the full weight of the Patriarch's authority behind her. The shard fragment pulsing with patient indifference. And Riven walked forward toward judgment with spine straight and courage borrowed from a dead man who had chosen drowning over compliance.
Whatever came next would define everything. For better or catastrophically worse. For awakening or ending. For proving himself worthy or confirming every worst assessment anyone had ever made.
The Seventh Star approached the stellar shard, and the chamber held its breath, and history prepared to repeat or shatter depending on what happened when borrowed flesh touched cosmic fire one final time.