"You know, I really wish I didn't have to make any sort of choice at all," Asteria murmured, her voice barely audible over the hum of the academy. "Three Great Clans fighting for my attention, and a year ago, they didn't even know I existed."
She left the rest unspoken; the bitter truth about a world where power was the only currency that didn't devalue. In this era, the weak didn't struggle — they lacked the right to the basics of life.
They were people from the outskirts. People like her.
"There's not a lot you can do about it now," a voice called out. Asteria looked up to see a figure leaning against a nearby wall, half-shrouded in shadow. "You brought far too much attention to yourself."
"Nephis." Asteria wasn't truly surprised, though the silver-haired legacy had a knack for appearing at the right time. "You know, I've been wondering something."
Nephis didn't respond with words. She simply shifted her gaze, her grey eyes pinning Asteria with an intensity that bordered on curiosity.
"What drives you to keep climbing? To get stronger?" Asteria asked. "Me, I just want to escape the life I had. I'm quite content with the strength of a Master. It's more than I ever dreamed of having."
"Hatred."
The word was flat, icy, and absolute. It was the foundation upon which Changing Star stood.
"Towards whom?" Asteria probed.
"The ghouls they call royalty," Nephis said, a faint, mocking snort escaping her — a rare crack in her stoic mask. "The very ones currently begging for your attention."
"Why do you hate them so much?" The Queen asked, genuinely intrigued. "Or is this some clan political feud I'm better off not knowing?"
"It's that," Nephis shrugged, the fire in her eyes dimming back to a simmer. "And if you're truly content where you are, I won't rope you into my mess."
"That's surprising. I thought you'd be more stubborn about collecting talent for your cause."
"No. I mean... if it is my will, who dares to stop me?" Nephis stood taller, her conviction filling the hallway like physical pressure. "I will succeed with or without allies."
'Definitely Nephis,' Asteria thought. It was an exhausting way to live, but she couldn't help but admire the sheer scale of it. 'A shame I don't care enough to get involved. Rule number one of the outskirts: Keep to yourself.'
Asteria chuckled softly at the other girl's stubbornness. "You remember what they teach us, right? Nobody survives the Dream Realm alone. You've got a cohort, Nephis. Stick with them. At the very least, it won't be boring."
The Changing Star hummed a non-committal note in lieu of a response, turned on her heel, and vanished into the corridor.
***
'Decisions, decisions.'
Asteria was walking toward the cafeteria in a daze when a familiar, weary presence intercepted her.
"Ah, Asteria. I've been looking for you."
It was Soul Reaper Jet. The Master looked as tired as ever, yet she carried an aura of relaxed authority that Asteria found oddly comforting. "How have you been? I heard you've been busy since I last saw you. Honestly, the next generation is making the rest of us look incapable."
Asteria laughed, the self-deprecating joke acting as a much-needed release for her stress. "I've been well enough. But am I really so important that even you have to come find me personally?"
"Somebody finally gets it!" Jet laughed, throwing her head back in mock despair. "You're a wanted woman, Asteria. The three Great Clans and the government are practically at war over you. That's why I'm here — but I'll give you the truth and save you the propaganda." Jet leaned in, lowering her voice. "I was officially sent to recruit you for the government, but unofficially? Don't do it. You're destined for much greater things than being a bureaucrat's trophy."
Asteria's eyebrows shot up. It wasn't every day a recruiter told you to run the other way.
"Anyway, I actually came for a personal reason." Jet gestured to a corner table in the cafeteria. "Have you found a place to live that isn't a cramped dorm room at the Academy?"
"I... haven't. Should I have?" Asteria gave a wry, sheepish smile.
'Whoops.'
"The government provides housing for exceptional Awakened," Jet explained. "But for someone of your capabilities? The benefits are... substantial."
"Such as?" Asteria's ears practically perked up at the mention of 'substantial benefits.'
"Oh, you know. Grand estates, a practically unlimited credit balance for that by the way, and your pick of any Memory within the government's armoury," Jet listed them off as if she were reading a grocery list, while Asteria's head began to spin.
"Maybe I should join the government..." she mumbled, dizzied by the sudden prospect of unimaginable wealth.
"You realise the Clans can offer all that and more, right?" Jet shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not a bad problem to have, Asteria. Most people would kill to be in your shoes."
"I don't think you're supposed to be pitching the Clans to me!" Asteria snorted, nearly spilling the water Jet had handed her. "They're persistent enough as it is."
"I can imagine. They'd do anything to get their hands on you. Have you actually looked at the offers yet?" Jet asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"I haven't. I feel like if I open them, I have to respond. And honestly? I like where I am now."
The rest of their conversation was light — a brief window of normalcy between two people who had seen too much of the dark.
The cafeteria was a sea of white noise — the steady drone of voices and the clatter of cutlery. For Asteria, it was a blur. Jet's departure had left her with a fleeting sense of clarity that vanished the moment she was alone again.
Sighing, she pulled out her communicator. The notification light was pulsing a frantic crimson — the digital equivalent of a migraine.
'Is it time? Do I really have to do this? Damn you, Jet...' she cursed silently, agitated that she'd been coaxed into facing her source of despair.
With a hesitant swipe, four distinct folders expanded on her screen. Each bore a crest that carried the weight of a continent. An Anvil — Valor. A Flute — Song. A Trident — The House of Night. And finally, a Shield — The Government.
The offer from the Anvil of Valor was blunt, formatted with the chilling precision of a military manifest. It expected her to accept their demands and move onto the next candidate.
Asteria would be instated as a high-ranking figure within their Clan and vanguard. The payment in credits and soul shards was astronomical, but the real lure was the exclusive access to their artisans: Forgers, Spellsmiths, Infusers, and even a Scribe.
'I won't say no to free things…' she thought, eyeing the promise of a personal trainer and a hand-picked cohort. But then came the price.
A sworn oath of loyalty to the King of Swords. To be at his beck and call, a weapon in his hand. And tucked away with the subtlety of a sledgehammer: the demand for ownership of her Citadel.
The vibe was simple: 'Join or be crushed.'
"Yeah, that's a no," she whispered.
The offer from the Flute of Song was different. It was wrapped in the language of poetry and sisterhood. It was a masterclass in psychological warfare, aimed directly at a girl from the outskirts who had never known a family. Asteria never had a stable family, she never belonged anywhere but her own imagination.
Ki Song offered to adopt her.
Adopt her. Asteria, someone who ate synthpaste for dinner, crawled on dirty streets and wore rags. Ki Song wanted to adopt her. Ki Song was offering everything Asteria yearned for.
Asteria would become a Princess. Royalty. A goddess among mortals. She would have a private estate in Ravenheart and a curated selection of Echoes between the Ascendent and Transcendent rank, and even Memories that might approach Supreme depending on the circumstances!
But that wasn't all.
Song offered her a guarantee to become a Saint within five years.
'Oh…' Asteria was tempted. Belonging. Family. Protection. Wealth. She could have it all.
But beneath the silk was a noose. Song wanted her in Ravenheart for tutelage under the Sovereign herself. It was a soft imprisonment designed to turn the Queen of Nightmare into a loyal lapdog.
"We will love you, we will cherish you, and we will never, ever let you go." Asteria mocked, attempting to mimic a posh-noble voice.
A grim reality, really. Two of the three Great Clans already and openly wanted to claim her as property.
The House of Night's offer was the shortest. They offered absolute protection from the other two clans and total anonymity. But the cost was becoming an errand girl for the Storm Sea.
"What am I? A courier?" she snorted. "A year ago, I'd have killed for this. My standards must be getting too high now…"
Finally, the Government.
It was shameless. A luxury penthouse in the capital of the NQSC, a seat on a council where executive decisions were made, and the title of "Hero of the People," making her legally untouchable.
"Legally untouchable? In the era of the Spell?" she muttered. "What are they going to do, take an Unholy Titan to court?"
The catch was the worst of all: She would be their poster girl. PR stunts, speeches, and endless paperwork. A puppet used to tell the masses that the world wasn't ending when it clearly was.
Asteria stared at the flickering folders and sighed. To anyone else, this was the pinnacle of existence — the dream of any Awakened or Mundane who stepped foot into the era of the Spell.
But it was terror for her.
Different paths that would define her — give her a name. Make her something she doesn't want to be.
She knew the truth. If she didn't choose, she would die. The Great Clans didn't tolerate neutrality; they saw it as a challenge.
She thought of Nephis again. Hatred. Nephis had a goal that burned as bright as she did and a fire hot enough to incinerate these contracts. "'If it is my will, who dares to stop me?'" But Asteria didn't have that fire. She just wanted the quiet life she'd been denied in the outskirts.
"Keep to yourself," she whispered, her finger hovering over the delete icon.
But she didn't press it. She couldn't. In the Dream Realm, "keeping to yourself" made you easy prey. She needed backer, protection — a shield, but every shield offered to her came with a handle someone else would hold.
'A year ago, I was worried about my next meal,' she thought, a self-deprecating laugh bubbling up. 'Now I'm worried about which Sovereign is going to try and own my soul. I suppose that's progress, right?'
As she closed the communicator, the cafeteria felt like a tomb. She wanted to run — not just from the room, but from the city, the NQSC, the whole rotting system.
'Ki Song, Anvil of Valor… They're just Saints,' she told herself, a dangerous spark of defiance taking root. 'If I get stronger, I can challenge them. I can protect myself.'
And that was where Asteria's first mistake began.