Riven stopped directly in front of Tesha and the floating shard, his heart hammering against ribs that felt too tight despite the formal attire being perfectly tailored. The golden eyed woman studied him with professional assessment, her expression neutral but carrying weight of someone who had witnessed countless ceremonies like this, successful and otherwise.
"Seventh Star," she said, her voice carrying across the silent chamber. "Are you still familiar with the awakening process, or would you prefer I walk you through the procedure again?"
The question was reasonable, courteous even, acknowledging that fever and near death might have affected his memory. But something in Riven bristled at the implication, at the suggestion that he needed additional instruction for something this fundamental, this defining.
"There's no need," he replied, keeping his voice steady despite the anxiety churning in his gut. "Surely after two attempts I should be an expert at this myself by now."
A few of the Elders shifted slightly in their seats, whether at his tone or his words he could not tell and did not particularly care. He was not here to manage their comfort or meet their expectations for proper deference. He was here to awaken or fail definitively. Everything else was secondary.
Tesha nodded once, accepting his response without comment, and stepped aside, giving him clear access to the central platform and the pulsing oval shell that floated above it like captured piece of cosmic catastrophe.
Without ceremony, without hesitation, without giving himself time to second guess or spiral into doubt, Riven stepped up onto the platform.
The moment his feet touched the elevated surface something shifted. The air felt different here, heavier, charged with energy he could not perceive directly but could sense through how his skin prickled and his hair seemed to stand slightly on end. This space existed adjacent to normal reality, touched by primordial forces in ways that made it fundamentally other.
He stood before the shard, close enough now to see details that had been obscured by distance. The oval shell was not solid but seemed to be composed of layers, translucent material that shifted and flowed like liquid crystallized into semi stable form. Within those layers something pulsed with faint light, rhythmic and organic, almost like heartbeat except the rhythm was wrong, too slow, too measured, cosmic rather than biological.
In that moment there was nothing but him and the shard. The chamber faded, the watching Elders became irrelevant. Riven's entire world narrowed to this fragment of dead star and the question of whether it would finally recognize him.
His breath slowed, deepened, became conscious and deliberate. He felt his pulse in his throat, in his wrists, in his temples. Each beat marking time stretching like taffy, seconds becoming minutes becoming eternities compressed into single moment.
His gaze left the shard for only a moment, one final scan of the assembled witnesses, taking note of every face visible on the raised platforms. Some expressions seemed hopeful, genuine desire to see him succeed, probably distant relatives who had nothing invested in his failure. Others were clearly hostile, faces marked by satisfaction at watching another potential rival remove himself from succession, eliminating competition through his own inadequacy.
And some did not care the least bit, looked bored or distracted or simply performing mandatory attendance. His success or failure meant nothing to their lives, just another ceremony among countless they had witnessed over decades.
Finally Riven's gaze settled on Tesha, standing to the side with professional composure, golden eyes tracking everything, witness and administrator both. She gave him a small nod, acknowledgment or permission or simple recognition that he was about to attempt something that had failed twice before.
Riven raised his hand, the motion felt surreal, disconnected, like watching someone else control his borrowed body. He extended his arm slowly, deliberately, giving his mind time to process what was happening, giving reality time to adjust to the fact that he was actually doing this, actually attempting awakening for the third time despite every rational reason to expect failure.
His palm moved toward the shard, fingers spreading slightly, skin that was not originally his preparing to touch cosmic fire that should recognize bloodline it had granted but apparently did not. Closer, closer, the air between his hand and the shell seemed to thicken, resist, like pushing through invisible membrane.
And then he touched it.
In that first moment, nothing happened.
Absolute silence, complete stillness. His palm pressed against the translucent shell and he felt only smooth surface, cool and inert, like touching polished glass or crystal. No pulse of energy, no recognition, no response whatsoever.
His heart sank. The optimism he had been carefully cultivating crumbled, revealing the pessimism beneath, the certainty that this would fail just like the previous attempts, that his body was broken or resistant or simply incompatible with the bloodline it supposedly carried.
'Third time's the charm,' he thought bitterly. 'Except apparently not. Apparently three is just confirmation that twice wasn't anomaly but pattern. That this body fundamentally cannot access what every other Astravar takes for granted.'
He turned his face slightly toward the room, unable to help himself, needing to see their reactions, confirm that they saw what he felt. Nothing. No awakening. No recognition. Just failed attempt number three.
His eyes caught disappointing gazes, heads shaking slightly, expressions that said they had expected this, had known it would fail, were already moving past his attempt toward whatever came next for the Seventh Star who could not awaken.
Some faces showed something worse than disappointment, showed satisfaction, even happiness. They were genuinely pleased to witness his failure, glad to see him confirm his inadequacy publicly, removing any possibility that he might eventually threaten their positions or prospects.
Then he felt it.
Something jarred up his arm in an electrifying zip, not painful exactly but intense, startling. The sensation traveled from his palm where it contacted the shell, racing up through his wrist, his forearm, his elbow, his shoulder, spreading into his chest and then throughout his entire body in waves that made every nerve fire simultaneously.
It stung, not just on the outer surface of his skin but internally, deeper, like something was reaching into him, examining him, testing connections and pathways that should not exist in normal human biology.
The shard pulsed.
Not glowing, not producing light exactly, but actually beating like a living heart. The rhythm that had seemed wrong before suddenly made sense, too slow for biological heart but perfect for something cosmic, something that measured time in stellar cycles rather than human seconds.
Thump.
The pulse sent vibrations through Riven's arm, through his body, through the platform beneath his feet.
Thump.
Stronger this time, more insistent, like the shard was waking up, responding to contact after dormancy.
Thump.
The chamber's atmosphere shifted, though no one else seemed to notice. The energy that had felt ambient and diffuse suddenly focused, concentrated on the point of contact between borrowed flesh and primordial fragment.
'No one apart from me can feel this,' he realized. 'Because I'm the one maintaining contact with the shard. The one whose nervous system is lighting up with sensation that transcends normal perception. Everyone else sees only external stillness. My palm pressed against shell. My expression frozen in concentration. Nothing to suggest anything significant is happening.'
Then something appeared in his vision, words writing themselves across his perception in translucent blue display, like text overlaid on reality itself, visible only to him, somehow both present and immaterial.
[You Have Made Contact With Shard Of The Genesis Star]
'Genesis Star,' Riven's mind latched onto the terminology. 'Not just any stellar fragment but something specific, something named. The history book called it a forming grand nebula that exploded, scattered shards across the cosmos, but this calls it Genesis Star. Primordial source. Original creation.'
The text hung there for a moment, pulsing in sync with the shard's heartbeat rhythm, then faded as new words appeared.
[The Shard Acknowledges Your Presence]
'It acknowledges me,' Riven thought, something between hope and terror flooding through him. 'The previous attempts didn't acknowledge, didn't respond, just remained inert like I wasn't even there. But now it acknowledges. It knows I'm touching it. It recognizes something.'
The implications raced through his mind faster than conscious analysis. If the shard acknowledged him now but had not before, what changed? His consciousness. Levin's mind inhabiting Riven's body. Was that the difference? Did the fragment somehow recognize transmigration, respond to whatever metaphysical weirdness had occurred when he drowned and woke here?
New text replaced the acknowledgment.
[The Genesis Shard Cries Out, It Cries To Be Whole Again]
'Cries out,' Riven parsed the phrase carefully. 'Anthropomorphizing the fragment. Giving it emotional state, desire, need. It's not just cosmic debris but something that wants, something that lacks completion and seeks restoration.'
The text carried implications he struggled to process. The shard wanted to be whole, which meant it knew it was fragmented, knew it had been broken, scattered, divided. Retained some memory or awareness of its original unified state. That suggested intelligence beyond what he had expected. Consciousness perhaps. Not human but present nonetheless.
Another line appeared, building on the previous revelation.
[The Shard Wants You]
The words hit like physical impact, direct and unambiguous. Not the shard acknowledges you, not the shard accepts you, but the shard wants you. Active desire. Specific selection. Choosing him for reasons he could not begin to comprehend.
'Why?' Riven's thoughts spiraled. 'Why me specifically? Why this body? Why now after two failed attempts? What changed? What makes me different from every other Astravar who's touched this fragment? What does a piece of dead star want with someone who drowned in a river and woke up wearing borrowed skin?'
The implications terrified and exhilarated in equal measure. If the shard wanted him that suggested awakening was not just possible but likely, guaranteed even. But it also suggested something more complex than simple bloodline activation, something that transcended normal Astravar awakening process.
New text appeared, clarifying without really explaining.
[Will You Make The Shard Whole Again]
The question hung in his vision, pulsing with each heartbeat rhythm, demanding response he had no context to provide.
'Make it whole again,' he thought. 'Restore what was scattered. Reunify what was fragmented. But how? The history book said twelve fragments were recovered by the Twelve families. This is one fragment divided further among the Astravar. How am I supposed to make it whole? Collect all the pieces? Somehow gather fragments from families who've hoarded them for generations? That's impossible. Insane. Why would it even ask that?'
Unless, a thought struck him with crystalline clarity, unless making it whole was not about physical collection but something else. Metaphysical perhaps. Awakening as conduit or vessel or connection between separated pieces. Becoming the thread that ties fragments together across distance and families and whatever barriers separated them.
'Or maybe,' Riven thought with growing unease, 'it's asking permission to do something. To use me somehow. To make me the tool through which it restores itself. And what happens to me if I agree? Do I remain Riven or do I become something else? Extension of cosmic will? Puppet dancing to stellar strings?'
Before he could spiral further, new text appeared, offering something that made his breath catch.
[If You Accept, The Shard Will Give You Power, Power To Stand Above The Pinnacle Of The Cosmos]
'Power to stand above the pinnacle,' Riven's mind stuttered over the phrasing. 'Not just power. Not even great power. But power that exceeds the highest point. Transcends the peak. Goes beyond what pinnacle represents.'
The history book had described the cultivation system. Ten Gates and ten Realms. The Tenth Realm called Convergence representing peak mortal achievement, threshold of divinity. And above that presumably the Omega, beings like his grandfather who had reached Ninth Realm and transcended mortality, become pure Aster incarnate.
'Above the pinnacle of the cosmos,' he thought, trying to grasp the scale. 'That's not just exceeding Tenth Realm. That's transcending the entire system. Going beyond what even Omegas achieve. Becoming something so far removed from normal cultivation that comparison becomes meaningless.'
The promise was intoxicating, seductive in ways that transcended simple ambition. He had died once to escape impossible expectations, had jumped into void rather than continue under others' control. But this offered different escape. Escape through exceeding rather than avoiding. Through becoming so powerful that expectations became irrelevant because nothing could constrain him.
'I could stand above Lord Hugo,' the thought sent electricity through his borrowed nerves. 'Above the Elders and Grand Elders. Above the Twelve families and their accumulated power. Above the entire system that was designed to crush people like me. I could transcend everything that makes awakening necessary. Could become something that looks down at cultivation hierarchies and talent colors and bloodline advantages like adult viewing children's games.'
But what would that cost? What did making the shard whole require? What did accepting this offer actually mean beyond vague promises of cosmic superiority?
The final text appeared, simple and direct and absolutely pivotal.
[Do You Accept?]
Two options materialized below the question, glowing with faint blue light that pulsed in rhythm with the shard's heartbeat.
[Yes] [No]
Riven stared at the choice, his mind racing, his heart hammering, his borrowed body frozen in moment that would define everything that came after.
'If I choose Yes,' he thought, analyzing rapidly, 'I accept whatever making the shard whole entails. I become bound to this cosmic entity's goal of restoration. I gain power that supposedly exceeds the pinnacle but lose autonomy. Become tool or vessel or partner in something I don't understand.'
'If I choose No,' the alternative seemed equally consequential, 'I reject the offer. Refuse whatever the shard wants. And what happens then? Does it withdraw? Leave me unable to awaken? Confirm that this third attempt fails just like the previous two? Or does something worse happen? Does rejecting a cosmic entity that wants you carry penalties beyond simple disappointment?'
The chamber remained frozen around him. The Elders watching with expressions ranging from hope to satisfaction to boredom. Tesha standing ready to officiate. None of them could see what he saw. The translucent blue text. The impossible offer. The choice that transcended simple awakening and became something far more significant.
'This isn't normal,' Riven thought with certainty. 'Normal Astravar awakening doesn't involve cryptic messages and cosmic bargains. Doesn't offer power above the pinnacle. Doesn't ask permission or present choices. They just touch the shard and their bloodline activates or doesn't. Simple. Straightforward. Nothing like this.'
Which meant either something about him was fundamentally different, the transmigration had created unique condition the shard recognized and responded to, or something about the shard itself was different from what the family understood. It was not just fragment granting bloodline but conscious entity with goals and desires that transcended simple energy distribution.
'Power to stand above the pinnacle of the cosmos,' the phrase echoed through his thoughts, seductive and terrifying. Exactly what part of him had always wanted. Freedom through overwhelming capability. Escape through exceeding every constraint anyone could impose.
'But at what cost?' The question would not leave him alone. 'What does making it whole require? What happens to me if I accept? Do I remain Riven or become something else? Extension of stellar will? Consciousness subsumed into cosmic purpose?'
The shard pulsed again, stronger this time, insistent, like it was waiting for response, like extended contact without decision was creating strain or pressure. Urging him toward choice, toward commitment, toward answering the question that had appeared in translucent blue across his vision.
[Do You Accept?]
[Yes] [No]
Riven stood frozen, palm pressed against cool shell, sensations racing through his borrowed nervous system, text hanging in his vision visible only to him. Choice presented that would define not just whether he awakened but what he would become if he did.
The chamber held its breath, though no one knew why except him. Held silent vigil as the Seventh Star faced crossroad between normalcy and transcendence, between refusing cosmic bargain and accepting offer that promised everything while revealing nothing about its true price.
His hand trembled slightly against the shell, the only external sign of internal turmoil. His violet hair fell forward framing face frozen in concentration. His blue eyes stared at options that glowed with patient indifference, waiting for decision that could not be unmade.
Yes or No.
Transcendence or refusal.
Power above the pinnacle or return to normalcy that might mean failure.
The Genesis Shard wanted him, had cried out for wholeness, had offered bargain that exceeded anything he had imagined possible. And Riven stood at the threshold wondering if jumping into cosmic fire would be liberation or just different cage. If choosing Yes meant freedom or submission. If power that stood above the pinnacle came with strings attached that would make expectations from others seem gentle by comparison.
The choice waited, glowing in translucent blue, demanding answer he did not have context to give confidently.
But he had to choose. Had to respond. Had to commit one way or another because standing here frozen was not sustainable. The shard pulsed with increasing insistence. His borrowed body could not maintain this state indefinitely. And somewhere beyond his perception the chamber full of witnesses was probably starting to wonder why he had been standing motionless for so long.
Yes or No.
Everything or nothing.
Transcendence or failure.
Riven faced his crossroad, and the cosmos waited to see which path he would choose.