Astra sat cross-legged in the dim silence of the training hall, shadows gathered around him like silent witnesses. He tried to meditate. Emphasis on tried. Something inside him wouldn't stop stirring — an itch he couldn't reach, a pressure that made it impossible to focus
The so-called blessing from the Harbinger of Twisted Truths, that vile devil...had been growing... restless. The "blessing" thrummed beneath his skin, a slow, coiling tide of energy that refused to settle. It was as if something was coming. Something just out of reach. He didn't know what it was, but his instincts were screaming at him.
A breakthrough? A transformation? Or a collapse?
He didn't know. But it was eating at him.
"Gods," he whispered, finally standing up. The shadows around him stirred, pulsing in irritation, mirroring his mood.
He was trying to complete an exercise Vesper had given him—something about ordering the shadows, not just controlling them but feeling them, mirroring them. Whatever that meant. He kind of understood it. But also? Not at all.
And of course, Vesper had conveniently vanished, mumbling something about "going to see about a girl," with one of his usual smirks. Before he left, he'd told Astra to stop being so "mean to the shadows," as if they had feelings. As if they got sad.
That insufferable bastard.
Astra rolled his eyes just thinking about it. That bastard.
And yet… they had been getting close lately. Spending more time together. Training. Talking. Maybe even bonding, in a weird blood-sweat-and-tears kind of way. Astra had read once that the strongest connections were forged that way—through pain.
Sighing, Astra took a break. He flipped through the mana network using his mage coin, letting the familiar interface flicker to life in his palm.
The mana network was overflowing with updates from the tournament — yesterday's Rank Two battles, today's Rank Threes. The final rounds were approaching, and everything was heating up.
And Astra? He was stuck in a dark room, forbidden from attending in person. Both Alistair and Vesper had ordered him to stay low until the finals. Something about "avoiding accidents" and "preparing for war." He didn't argue. Not really. But that didn't mean he had to like it.
He needed to be ready for Aster, for the final match. And he'd need everything he had for her. The famed Hunt heiress. The prodigy. The genius. The terrifying bearer of that infamous inheritance..
It burned that he wasn't allowed to go watch them
The clips didn't help his restraint. The battles were wild—champions from all over the Realms clashing in shows of strength and spectacle. Clips from the tournament played across the feed — stunning duels, domain magic, combat techniques from across the Realms. Mages enhancing their bodies, summoning storms, reshaping terrain with nothing but will and mana. The skill, the magic, the power… it made something inside Astra howl. His curse throbbed under his skin, whispering, begging him to sneak out and go watch in person. To see the fire up close. To feel the mana in the air. Especially the final rounds—where only monsters remained.
And yet here he was. Alone. In a dark room. Trying to emotionally connect with shadows.
"Oh gods," he groaned again, more annoyed than before.
The Rank Three matches in particular had become infamous. The power levels were immense. Some contestants were unleashing domains — true expressions of mastery. Others relied on speed, or range, or sheer overwhelming pressure. And among them were the jesters — those infamous Rank Threes who walked the line between brilliance and madness, bound to no house, no code, no law. Their magic was unpredictable, terrifying.
But even they didn't faze Astra.
He'd faced angels.
And a devil.
The memory of a certain devil — that voice, that smile, that presence — lingered at the edge of his mind. A being so far beyond understanding that trying to describe him felt pointless. The Harbinger of Twisted truths hadn't just spoken to Astra — he had marked him. Left a brand of madness that pulsed with impossible power. A "blessing," he'd called it.
Astra wasn't sure if it was a gift or a time bomb. Probably both, but it seemed to be more helpful according to the Angel of Shadows.
Still, despite the internal chaos, House Shadow was doing well. Surprisingly well. Their retainers, vessels, and champions had outperformed expectations. A few even made it to the final rounds — though only one made it to the semifinals. Vesper's cousin, if Astra recalled, and he'd been absolutely destroyed.
Which meant that Astra was the only finalist left for House Shadow.
On the rankings, the houses stood like this:
Rankings:
1.Hunt
2.Dusk
3.Guild of War
4.Dawn
5.Ashen
6.Spring
7.Shadow
8.Tide
9.Dune
10.Rune
No one really knew how close the scores were — just that any house could theoretically rise or fall dramatically in the final rounds. Even Rune, sitting at the bottom, had a slim shot at glory. It wasn't just competition anymore. It was chaos. The kind people bet fortunes on.
And right now? Hunt was tearing through everything in its path. Their champions were ruthless — methodical, even. Dusk and Dawn, meanwhile, had shown incredible discipline and sheer magical depth. They treated the tournament like sacred tradition. Which, for them, it was.
Hunt had two finalists.
Dusk had one.
And Shadow had Astra.
There were a few chaos jesters and guild wildcards left in the mix, but fewer than before.
Funny how things had worked out. Astra—the boy from the gutter, the cursed orphan of Duskfall—was now House Shadow's last hope. If he beat Aster, he could catapult them in the rankings. Maybe even win the whole thing.
He didn't know if that mattered. Or if he even cared.
He'd already beaten Dawn's most promising prince. He'd defeated scions, champions, warriors, legends-in-the-making. And now, all that was left was her—The Princess of Ruin.
Aster.
Hunt's prodigy. The one everyone whispered about. The one said to be so powerful she was destined for divinity. Whatever that meant.
He'd watched her matches.
Her magic was brutal. Controlled. Terrifying in its elegance. Her aura was cold. Distant. Almost… bored.
She was a long-range fighter, apparently. And yet she fought up close. Twin short swords. Close-quarter magic. Her domain spell? Still unseen. No one had pushed her far enough to make her use it.
Rumor said she held a domain spell so powerful she didn't need to use it. That no one had ever pushed her far enough to make her reveal it.
Astra wasn't sure if he wanted to be the first.
Still... Astra had a chance. Theoretically. Maybe even a good one.
If he could defeat Aster Hunt.
He shut the coin and let the quiet return.
....
The way this tournament was scheduled, Rank Ones were one day, and had the most amount of contenders and raw talent. Rank Twos came right after and had just as many if not a little less—still a bloodbath of hungry upstarts. However, once it hit Rank Three is where things got political… as they usually do.
Rank Three knights were officers and elites. Mages of substantial power. People who weren't just strong—they were assets. Naturally, most houses and guilds wouldn't send their most powerful officers and elites into a mere tournament. Why would one ever reveal their true strength and trump cards for fake glory? For claps and titles? It was foolish if you thought about it long enough. There was no prestige in exposure. So, they sent decoys. Or rising stars they could afford to lose. Some didn't send anyone at all.
Above that, the Rank Four division was more of a friendly duel. Ceremonial. Barely five matches happened per tournament and when they did, it was a huge spectacle. Cloaks and calligraphy. Theatrics and honor. The kind of thing you watched more than you remembered. Rank Four duels were myth-making, some where serious sure but never all out...you didn't get the same desperation as these Demi-gods never went all out.
Either way, the layout was simple. You fight through your bracket until the finals. Then the finals don't happen right away—they're saved. The final rounds of every bracket all happen together on a different date, usually the same day the Rank Four duels take place, acting as a sort of prequel to the main event. A full day of high-stakes matches, rising power, and myth.
It was a really good system if Astra said so himself. It maximized excitement, time, and profit. A truly leechrous way for the Guild of News—the largest guild of scouts and messengers, informants and gossips—to make their coin. They ran the entire tournament cycle. They owned the reporters, the diviners, the projection screens, the scrying mirrors, the betting rings. If a punch landed, they sold it. If a spell was cast, they named it. Heroes and villains were made in the press before they ever stepped into the ring. The whole thing was a play, and the Guild of News was both playwright and ticketmaster.
So now Astra had merely half a day to understand this concept Vesper was trying to show him.
"Feel the shadows, Astra, and they will feel you..."
He didn't know why Vesper had to be so damn cryptic about it, but the gist was clear enough—if he nurtured the shadows, they'd nurture him. His Shadow Fall wasn't just some spell anymore. It was shadow and star and it was powerful. Astra found out he could recreate a miniature version of Shadow Fall, but he still had to use celestial mana and too much of his own. He theorized he could even make his own stars—each with their own laws and weights—but he didn't know how or where to begin.
Still, he needed something simpler right now. A domain. A small one. Something that could at least even the playing field with someone like Aster Hunt and Lucein Solaris, something that he owned.
It was almost comical how niche this kind of spell was—he'd only ever need to use it against top-tier fighters, pinnacle-tier threats, not the bulk of mages. But Astra was already thinking ahead. Already bracing himself for the worst.
He had an idea for his domain.
He called it Black Moon.
He would use shadows to leech off his own tyrannical will—a weird concept he only figured out because of his ability to peer into the world's threads a little, thanks to a certain devil's blessing. But essentially, he could bind a little black moon a few feet off his head. It would encompass an area with his own leechrous shadow will—sapping mana from the area and weakening any spellwork inside the dome.
Inside it, he could freeform his shadow magic with ease. Cast faster, smoother, wilder. A self-made pressure system—his world, his rules.
And the power?
That was the part that surprised him. Despite its rushed birth, it should hold the power of a mid-tier Rank Two spell. All because of Astra's weird, warped will. His tyrannical pull on the shadows. Shadows wanted to serve him. They gathered near him, drawn like iron to a magnet, feeding the domain its strength. He didn't command them. They flocked.
But theory was different than practice.
Now he was sitting, breathing, reaching.
Trying to find the right enchantments.
He thought he had it.
He inhaled deeply, spoke with magic coiled in his throat, letting his authority ripple through the air around him. His voice bent, low and firm.
"Shadows… heed my call."
The shadows around him pulsed. Not eagerly—but less reluctant than before.
"Bless my domain with thy leechrous might."
He felt it then. The shadows latching on. To him. To the world. Mana bled from the air, from his skin, from the surroundings—and began rising into a dark orb of shadow. Rank Two aura curled around it. Heavy. Dense. Watchful.
"Seems to be working," Astra thought.
He went on.
"Veil me. Protect me. Guide me."
He felt it bloom.
The spell's hidden features revealing themselves—power enhancements, a refined shadow-sense, a calm stillness of control. Everything combining. He could feel himself pulsing with energy. Not Shadow Fall-level power… but something uniquely his. Something functional.
"Oh, Corrupting Black Moon…"
The dark orb floated a couple feet above, casting an eerie veil of darkness in a wide radius. His domain had form now. A shell. A will. And just like that, Astra had made two domain spells in three days.
A feat not many mages could even dream of.
But Astra didn't feel awe.
He didn't feel pride.
He frowned a little, smiled even less.
Astra stood still in the eerie shadow of the orb, the dark moon hovering a few feet above his head, casting a warped silhouette across the marble floor. He held the pose a moment longer, not out of necessity but disbelief.
"...This'll work fine," he murmured.
His voice didn't echo. The domain swallowed it whole.
Still, the disappointment lingered. It wasn't that the spell was weak—it wasn't. In fact, the fact that he'd birthed two domain spells in under three days, both independently unique, both layered with mechanics and intention, should have shaken him. But instead... it just annoyed him. It wasn't enough. It wasn't Shadowfall. It wasn't divine. It wasn't—
"Monstrous," came a voice from behind, casual as a morning yawn. "You're monstrous, you know that?"
Astra didn't flinch. He just let the shadows fade with a snap of his fingers, dissipating into mist and silence.
"Gods above, you're dense," he said, tone halfway between impressed and exasperated. "You really went and built another domain? Two in three days?" He clicked his tongue. "You're not supposed to brute force enlightenment, you absolute beast."
"You don't knock?" he said, not turning.
Vesper walked in like he owned the place, arms crossed over his absurdly built chest, eyes scanning the leftover wisps of mana in the air.
"I did. Twice. Your little moon tried to eat me."
Astra rolled his eyes, slumping into the nearest bench. "You're being dramatic."
"I'm being accurate." Vesper gave the domain's residue a sniff, then whistled low. "That thing's dense. Like, 'melt-a-hole-through-the-veil' dense. You're basically leeching off your own tyrannical will and bottling it into a mobile death field. Who the hell even thinks of that?"
Astra didn't answer. Vesper sat beside him, too close, as usual. He looked at Astra sideways, the teasing tone slipping into something softer.
"You don't even realize how terrifying you are, do you?"
"I'm not terrifying enough."
"You're insane. You've made two domains, and you're still acting like you're going to die tomorrow."
"Maybe I will."
Silence. Vesper watched him.
"I get it," he said eventually. "You're trying to close the gap. But this isn't a normal fight. Aster Hunt isn't normal."
Astra finally looked at him. "Tell me."
Vesper nodded, leaning back against the wall. "You already know the basics. Prodigy. Talent through the roof. But her magic's always been... weird. Not traditional elemental affinities. No obvious mana signature. Her combat style is erratic—elegant, but savage. Fluid. She doesn't cast like a mage. She moves like a blade."
Astra's eyes narrowed. "So what's her magic?"
"she's a unique dual-root magic system. Life magic, first and foremost—earth and water fused to create something organic. Growth. Healing. Vines, bark, spores—real pretty when she wants it to be. Nasty when she doesn't."
He held up a finger.
"But that's just one half."
Then a second.
"The other half's something far rarer. Rot. Decay. Ruin."
Astra blinked.
"Rot?" he echoed.
"Yeah." Vesper's gaze darkened a little. "She can corrode magic, armor, even people. Not with brute force. With entropy. Her second magic's anchored in her eyes—I saw it once, just barely. A spell aimed at her melted mid-air. Like it lost the will to exist."
A beat passed.
"She can unravel things," Vesper said softly. "Things without will. Constructs, barriers, illusions... weak minds."
Astra didn't speak. He just stared at the ground, shadows curling up his boots, thoughtful and still.
"She's both a healer and a destroyer," Vesper went on. "Support and Dustruction. And no one sees it coming because everyone's too focused on the blooming vines and glowing petals. She could kiss you back to life or rot you to bone, all with the same smile."
Astra scoffed faintly. "You're really painting her like some divine horror."
Vesper grinned. "You'd be surprised how often those two words overlap."
Astra tilted his head. "That's dramatic."
"It's true."
A pause. Vesper cracked his knuckles.
"She's dangerous, Astra. And if she decides you're worth using her true magic on..."
"I'll survive."
"I'm not sure survival is what she wants from you," Vesper muttered.
.....
Duskfall the city, bathed in a perpetual twilight was alive, it hummed with excitement, its people charged with anticipation. As night stretched its limbs across the sprawling metropolis, the Midnight Arena came to life. Massive, black stone towers stretched up from the ground like ancient sentinels, glowing faintly with arcane runes. The arena itself was colossal—a dark behemoth carved from the very bones of the city, with jagged obsidian walls reaching high above, the outer structure adorned with flickering, intricate lanterns of azure flame.
Tonight was not just another tournament—it was the climactic crescendo of a week of brutality, strategy, and magical refinement. The Midnight Arena had never seen such an overflow of spectators; the sheer volume of people, both nobles and commoners alike, filled the vast coliseum to its breaking point. Thousands of voices, hundreds of species, and countless factions all here for the same thing: the final showdown.
Every House had come.Banners unfurled with silent magic, stretching across the heavens like the wings of ancestral beasts.House Shadow: black and gold, like a promise of power kept in silence.House Duskfall: deep purple and charred silver, their sigil flickering like a dying star.House Sunfire: a field of crimson flames, proud and unyielding.House Dawn: golden sunbursts threaded in holy white, divine and arrogant in their luster.
Floating projections shimmered above the arena, displaying the faces of the two finalists in larger-than-life brilliance—Astra and Aster, their eyes locked even across the illusion.
The air was a maelstrom—mango spices and sweat, burnt ozone from discharged magic, the metallic bite of blood, and the deep, smoky aroma of roasted meats. Crowds surged like tides through the streets around the arena, shouting, laughing, chanting names, trading coin and secrets alike.
And then the horns began.
Brass warhorns, ancient and rune-bound, sang from the spires of the arena. Their call thundered through the city like the sound of an approaching war god. It was the sound of destiny being summoned. Then came the drums—deep and steady at first, then rising in tempo, a heartbeat of war echoing through every chest. Banners whipped in the wind. The city shook.
The arena's wards began to light—massive, spinning glyphs in the air, rotating slowly as teams of mages synchronized the final enchantments. Mana pulsed through the stone like blood through a body, resonating underfoot, humming with ancient hunger.
Inside the arena, the battlefield was deceptively simple—a wide, dark field of smooth black dust, speckled with gleaming gold fragments. Soil brought from the edges of the Aldergrove, where ley lines knot and fracture—each grain of dirt here was worth more than gold, imbued with mana so dense it shimmered when struck.
Above, the royal balconies sparkled like constellations. High Bishop Auric of Dune sat like a statue, hands clasped in his lap, flanked by the Chancellor of House Dawn, whose ceremonial robes looked more blade than fabric. Their expressions were unreadable. They weren't here for the fight. They were here for what the fight meant.
Below them, the nobles buzzed like insects—beautiful, terrible things. They murmured, not with excitement, but with cold calculation. Every motion in tonight's battle would be measured, catalogued, and weaponized in future councils and wars.
And in the belly of the beast, behind layers of stone and silence—
Astra waited his bottom half dressed in the Nightshrouds dark armor, but he was only wearing the tight undergarments of the top half. his long curly hair cascaded down to his violet eyes which were uneasy, his face also pale
He sat on a cold bench, surrounded by House Shadow's attendants—armorers, healers, enchanters, whispering over last-minute rituals. Above him, a projection glowed, showing his stats, his spells, his prior matches. Analysts bickered over his odds.
"It's all about timing," one voice said, a grizzled old warrior with graying hair. "Aster's power may seem secondary, but once she taps into that growth-enhancing magic of hers, she can shift the tide of battle in seconds. He's got the speed, the precision—but does he have the stamina for this?"
A younger analyst interjected. "But Astra's not a straightforward fighter. His mastery of shadows, of illusions—it's enough to neutralize most threats, even those who are more physically imposing like Aster. But can it handle her decay magic, we saw his domain, shadow fall against Lucien that was an insane spectacle, but from what we have gathered he cant use that again, now does he crumble or rise ? Will he be able to maintain control over the battlefield when the very earth beneath his feet rots away?"
Astra listened with little more than the faintest hint of annoyance. They could speculate all they wanted. But he knew what he could do. And he knew Aster wouldn't break easily.
Suddenly, the door creaked open. The room fell to silence.
A single figure stepped through...it was Seraphine Dune the royal princess.
The entire atmosphere shifted.
She stood there wearing a elegant regal black short dress, that cascaded down her esqusite frame perfectly she leaned by the doorway, her cloak shifting like ink spilled across the night. Her black hair spilled down her back, a perfect contrast to the glowing lights above. Those piercing blue eyes immediately locked onto Astra's violet ones.
For a moment, the world outside—the arena, the crowds, the chaos—seemed to disappear.
The analysts, support staff, and healers froze, sensing the tension in the air. Astra's chest tightened. He hadn't seen Seraphine in over a week—not since the sudden, cryptic absence that had felt like a damn ghost following him everywhere, he would lie to say she didnt have a strange effect on him, yet nonetheless. She had avoided him, always slipping past his reach, leaving behind questions he couldn't ask.
A moment passed. Then, finally, Astra broke the silence.
"Leave," he murmured, his voice quiet but resolute.
With a slight nod, the staff exited, and just like that, the door clicked shut.
Astra stood flustered by her sudden appearance and beauty, he was not moving, his gaze still fixed on Seraphine. She gave a languid smile, walking toward him, slow and deliberate.
"You've been avoiding me," he said, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "So...what's this about?"
Seraphine's lips curled into a half-smirk, her fingers trailing lightly over the stone, brushing past Astra's arm as she passed.
"Mm. I've just been busy," she said softly, almost tauntingly, the faintest trace of humor in her voice. "Why..did you miss me?"
Astra took a steady breath as he tilted his head as his curls fell down his violet eyes gleaming In fake amusement. "Not really. Though I have been wondering when you'd finally show up. Game on, I guess."
"You'll need more than your arrogance for this match," she replied smoothly, eyes glimmering with something unspoken.
His gaze faltered—just a little—and she saw it. She always did.
"I'll be watching, like always oh little star" she added, stepping closer until they were almost face to face.
Astra couldn't help but study her face, her pale skin, striking eyes, her silk like black hair, his gaze softened, Serpahine had quite an effect on him..it scared him honestly.
"It'd be a lie to say I that didn't miss you, Sera"
She smiled as she got closer
"I know, and look at you, a mere adopted scion calling a royal princess by a nickname, my my, how crass" she teased
Sera stopped, then, as if letting the air between them swell with unspoken words. And before Astra could reply or even stop her, she leaned in—kissed him. before he could even register the kiss she moved even closer, and then she pulled away.
"I'll be watching," she whispered again as she grabbed Astra by his chin and smiled. "Good luck out there, Astra."
And with that she turned around, she was gone—leaving him in the still silence of the room, the deafening noise of the crowd outside suddenly insignificant, a dull roar in his ears.
Astra stood there, his pulse pounding. He wasn't sure whether he was angered, bewildered, or just shaken to his core by her presence.
"What the fuck"
But there was one thing he was sure of, he had a fight very soon.