The world slowed to a crawl, a fractured mosaic of glittering, shattered glass and a looming feeling of inevitable death.
'It had to be now, huh? I'm unarmed, slow, and in heels... ' Asteria quickly lampooned, scanning her surroundings as her mind raced while her body struggled to keep up.
Hastily making a decision, she imbued as much of her essence as she could towards her legs and bounced backward — narrowly missing the blade poised for her jugular. Instead of a killing blow, the edge cut a thin, stinging line against her collarbone.
After, she dove to the floor and rolled to the side in a bid to avoid the next strike aimed for her chest. The black blade manifesting its way through the air with the sole goal to eliminate the Queen of Nightmare.
Finally, throwing herself backward, heels skidding on the marble; she saw the hooded figure who had his blade pointed at her.
"Die! You traitor" His voice rasped — a voice that sounded like grinding stones and an awfully parched throat.
Asteria hit the ground, the liquid onyx of her gown tangling around her legs. She scrambled back as the figure landed with a heavy thud. The assassin was draped in tattered rags that looked like they had been dragged through the mud; a stark, ugly contrast to the silver and silk of the gala.
"Excuse me!?" Asteria gasped, heart throbbing against her ribs. "What did I do now?!"
"You left me! You cut my limbs and tossed me to the side!" The man shrieked, his voice cracking. "You and that white-haired bitch!"
The perpetrator moved his free hand to his hood, slowly pulling it down and revealing his face.
As the hood fell back, she saw a face she regrettably remembered. It was gaunt now, his skin mapped with scars and the grey pallor or someone who had spent too long in the company of his own mind. His eyes, once full of arrogance, were now twin pits of manic and obsessive hatred.
Caster.
It was impossible. Caster was supposed to be dead, even if she never heard the voice of the spell announcing it. He was left behind at the top of the crumbling Crimson Spire, his hands separated and his feet removed — by all accounts he shouldn't have survived. He was the means to an end; a way for the dreamer army to return home.
'Hah? Fate's a bitch, huh? Is this what they call karma?'
He lunged again.
Asteria tried to summon a memory — anything, a blade or her echo — but Caster was on her like a starving wolf, his annoying speed only increasing after awakening. He knew how to fight; of course he did. He didn't give her any breathing room to think about summoning a memory and left all her attention on the defensive against his malicious blows and attacks.
Every time Asteria thought she had time, he drove a flurry of stabs towards her vitals, forcing her to abandon the thought and instead twisted her body in an undignified dance of survival.
'So many Saints and Masters here and what are they all doing?' Asteria scowled, her teeth grinding. 'Are they just deaf? For Spell's sake this can't get any wor-'
Asteria's pleas abruptly stopped when she heard a shout from another part of the gala.
"Get back!" Seishan's voice thundered from the doorway.
The ballroom had erupted in a cacophony of terror — which was surprising given everyone's status, but humans were still human after all. Screams of the elite echoed off the high ceilings as scions trampled on one another to reach the exits.
"Asteria! Move!" Seishan's grey skin was taut with fury as she vaulted over a banquet table, her red wine-colored dress fluttering behind her. Beside her, Revel was a streak of raven-black shadow, her vast, oppressive presence causing the air to ripple.
The Sisters of Song did not navigate the crowd as much as they broke it. Revel didn't care for the social status of the diplomats in her way; she shoved a government official into a flower arrangement without a glance, her dark eyes fixed solely on the secret assassin.
Caster hissed, his manic focus momentarily fractured by the approaching Saints. He swung his blade in a wide arc to keep the Sisters at bay, and in that split second of diverted attention, Asteria found the gap she needed.
'Finally.'
She summoned what she knew best. The [Might of Gold] coalesced around her figure in a flash of brilliant radiance. A simple, elegant chest plate and gauntlets formed over her gown, and a golden sword manifested in her grasp just as she deflected a strike aimed at her side.
"Yeah, you should've died," Asteria called out, skidding away while she gave the mental command to her [Unseen Mantle] memory to shift her awkward heels into sleek boots. "So what if I left you there? You were a means to an end, Caster. Nothing more."
"You left me to die! Me! A vassal of Valor!" Caster shrieked, his blade meeting her golden strike in the centre of the terrace. "What do you think they'll do when they find out about this?"
"You mean you didn't tell them already? Doesn't this make it easier for me?" Asteria's violet eyes burned with a cold, pragmatic light.
Caster lunged again, but the dynamic had shifted. Asteria was no longer the defenseless girl in heels. As their blades met, Caster's sword groaned, a spiderweb of cracks appearing on its surface. The difference in their attacks was vast; he only had his speed while she had a higher rank of strength and equipment.
Revel and Seishan finally reached the edge of the fray, their weapons drawn, but Asteria raised a gauntleted hand, her voice sharp enough to cut through the chaos.
"Stay back! Do not get involved!"
Seishan froze, her eyes wide. "Asteria, he's a lunatic! Let us handle this!"
"No," Asteria said, her gaze never leaving Caster. "He's a problem I created. If a Princess of Song can't handle a ragged failure from Valor, then we have no business calling ourselves Great. Stay back and watch."
The underlying message was clear to the sisters. This was a political stunt. By defeating an assassin assumed to be sent by Valor for revenge publicly, Asteria was showcasing her own strength and indirectly mocking the Clan that had failed to keep their own men in line.
Caster roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated rage. He threw himself at her with suicidal abandon. Asteria didn't move. She waited until the very last second, then stepped into his guard. She caught his sword-arm with her golden gauntlet, the metal shrieking against his tattered sleeve, and drove her own blade through his shoulder.
He collapsed to his knees, the black blade clattering onto the marble.
"How?" he wheezed, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. "I survived... I used... my clan's gift... it was meant for... but I used it on myself... to get here…"
Asteria looked down at him, her expression devoid of pity. "The Han Li clan? They gave you a one-time miracle to heal your limbs and you used it for this? For a suicide mission?"
"I wandered... through that rotten desert," Caster coughed, his eyes glazed. "I found a citadel made entirely of glass... I heard you were here. I didn't care about... I didn't care about Valor... I just wanted to see you bleed."
"You stumbled into my Citadel and my home,," Asteria whispered, leaning in so only he could hear. "And then you followed me to my party. You really are a persistent nuisance, Caster."
"Kill me," he spat, a mix of blood and bile hitting her golden chest plate. "I'll see you in hell."
"I don't think so," Asteria replied.
She looked up at the crowd. The guests had stopped running, standing in a terrified circle as they watched the bloodied Princess stand over the assassin. She saw Nephis in the distance, her expression unreadable, and Sunless, his eyes narrowed in dark contemplation.
Asteria turned back to Caster. She raised her golden sword high, the light of the chandeliers dancing off the blade.
"You were dead the moment you betrayed the army on the Forgotten Shore and decided to try kill Nephis," she said coldly. "I'm just finishing the job."
With a single, fluid motion, she brought the blade down. There was no struggle, only the clean, sharp sound of metal meeting marble.
Caster's head separated from his shoulders, rolling across the white stone until it came to a stop near the shattered glass. The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the chime of the Spell in Asteria's mind.
[You have slain an Awakened Human, Light Flash.]
'And he even got a True Name for his struggles. What a shame.
But the Spell's voice didn't end there.
[You have received a memory: Flash of Light.]
'I suppose it's a habit now. I can spare some essence for it, it'd make a nice trinket for my victory, right?'
Asteria stood there, the golden armour slowly dissolving back into essence, leaving her in her ruined, blood-stained onyx gown. She didn't look at the body. She looked at her panicked Sisters, who were watching her with a newfound, unsettling respect.
She wiped a droplet of blood from her cheek and turned toward the Valor representative who was shivering in the corner.
"Clean this up," she commanded, her voice echoing through the silent ballroom. "And tell Anvil of Valor that his trash keeps blowing onto my porch. If it happens again, I won't be so polite."
[...]
'Huh–'
[Your dream grows stronger.]
[Your dream is taking shape.]
'Oh fu–'
Asteria's breath hitched as a sudden, violent coldness radiated from the centre of her being, clashing with the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.
'Not here,' she hissed internally, her fingers digging into the marble floor. 'Not in front of them.'
The world blurred. A familiar, searing agony ignited in her chest, a phantom heat that felt as though her soul was being hammered on an anvil. She collapsed to her knees, her iridescent hair veiling her face as she heaved in deep, desperate lunges of air. To the stunned onlookers, it looked like the weight of the kill had finally broken her, but beneath the surface, a third core was forming out of the fragments of her victim.
The pressure intensified until, with a silent, internal snap, the agony vanished, replaced by a terrifyingly dense reservoir of power.
[Your dream has taken shape.]
Asteria remained still for a moment, her forehead resting against the cool stone, feeling the new rhythm thrumming in tandem with her heart.
'Three,' she thought, a dark, exhausted chuckle vibrating in her throat as she forced herself to stand. 'I really hope I never have to experience that again… but then again it looks like I can do it four more times… Does it get less painful?'