The Celestial Bastion's infirmary was a vault of silence. Tatsu lay on a slab of obsidian veined with starlight, his right hand throbbing where Solfractum had fused to his flesh. The relic's tendrils of entropy had retreated beneath his skin, leaving behind faint violet scars that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
Nyxis' voice, though, refused to quiet.
"You reek of regret," the entity hissed, its words slithering through his mind like smoke. "Pathetic. I've bonded withworms that are more resilient."
"Then un-bond," Tatsu muttered aloud, wincing as he sat up. His ribs ached like he'd been trampled by a Husk Knight.
A snort echoed from the doorway. "Talking to yourself already? The ritual's only supposed to crack your sanity, not shatter it."
A lean, sharp-faced student leaned against the archway, arms crossed. His eyes were mismatched, one star-born silver, the other human brown, and a jagged scar on his cheek glistened with embedded stardust. The Bastion's iridescent robes hung loose on his frame, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms etched with phase-runes.
Tatsu squinted. "Do I know you?"
"Renzo. Phase Five, Splinter. Like you, except I didn't weep during my binding." He tossed Tatsu a bottle filled with something that smelled like burnt honey and iron. "Drink. Veyra's orders. Says it'll stop Nyxis from 'eroding your cognitive pathways.'"
Tatsu sipped. The liquid seared his throat. "Why bother helping?"
Renzo's smirk faded. "Because the Seven want you to be functional for the Gathering. And I'd rather not clean up your corpse when the Icebloods arrive."
The Celestial Bastion, Tatsu learned, was not a single structure but a labyrinth of shifting wings, each attuned to a different cosmic frequency. Renzo grudgingly appointed his "orientation shadow" led him through vaulted halls where the air rippled with phantom whispers.
"West Wing's for combat drills," Renzo said, jerking his chin toward a corridor lined with doors that screamed. "East Wing's the Silent Archive. Don't go there unless you want the Fourth Anchor dissecting your dreams."
Tatsu paused beside a fractured mirror, its surface reflecting not his face, but a starfield. "And the Seven?"
"Hmm?"
"The Seated Anchors. Where are they?"
Renzo's scar twitched. "Tower of Echoes. They don't mingle. Not until the Gathering." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Word is, the First Anchor hasn't left his relic-vault in a decade. They feed him through a tube of frozen light."
A cold laugh echoed behind them.
"How quaint. The fledglings gossip like tavern drunks."
The voice belonged to a woman gliding down the hall, her robes stitched from void-silk, her hair coiled with live star-vines. The Fifth Anchor.
Up close, the relic fused to her throat, a harpstring humming with a supernova's death cry made Tatsu's teeth vibrate.
Renzo bowed stiffly. "Anchor Veyl."
She ignored him, circling Tatsu. "Nyxis' new vessel. How… pedestrian. Tell me, does it whisper sweet nothings as you sleep? Or just bile?"
Tatsu met her gaze. "It complains about the food."
Veyl's smile sharpened. "Clever. Pity cleverness dies first here." She flicked a star-vine tendril at Renzo. "Ensure he's presentable for the Welcoming Eclipse. The Dawnbreaker faction has already placed bets on how quickly he'll crack."
As she vanished in a discordant chord, Renzo exhaled. "You've got a real talent for pissing off celestials, you know that?"
The Bastion's factions, Renzo explained, were less about allegiance and more about survival.
"Icebloods," he said, pointing to a group of students sparring with blades of glacial entropy, "hoard relics. Ruthless, but predictable. Dawnbreakers " he nodded toward robed figures chanting over a dying star-core, " are zealots. Think pain purifies the soul."
"And you?" Tatsu asked.
Renzo tapped his scar. "Ghostwalkers. We… borrow. Relics, secrets, whatever isn't nailed down." He grinned, all teeth. "You'd fit right in."
"Lies," Nyxis hissed. "He wants to stealyou."
Tatsu ignored it. "What's the Gathering really about?"
Renzo's grin faded. "Recruitment. The sovereigns and knights? They're not here to train. They're here to shop. Best fighters get drafted into their wars. The rest…" He gestured to a passing student whose skin was half-crystallized. "…become fuel."
That night, drawn by a compulsion he couldn't name, Tatsu slipped into the restricted East Wing. The Silent Archive was a cathedral of living parchment, its shelves rearranging themselves as he passed. At its heart stood a mural depicting the Seven Anchors, their relics glowing with menace.
A shadow shifted.
"Seeking answers, or a quicker death?"
The Third Anchor stood behind him, her chainwhip relic coiled around her neck like a serpent. Unlike Veyl, her voice held no mockery only frost.
Tatsu steadied his breath. "Why bind us to entities? What's the point?"
"Power demands balance," she said, tracing a finger over the mural's First Anchor. "Nyxis' hunger offsets the Bastion's decay. Your suffering offsets the throne's growth. Simple arithmetic."
"And if I refuse to be a counterweight?"
The chainwhip stirred. "Then you become a lesson."
Before she could elaborate, alarms shrieked, a sound like dying stars. The Third Anchor vanished in a whip-crack of discordance.
Tatsu found Renzo on the Storm Terrace, where Bastion recruits gathered to watch stars collapse.
"They're here," Renzo said, nodding toward the horizon.
Ships descended, sleek gravity-skiffs bearing the sigils of a dozen kingdoms. Among them loomed a vessel of living ice, its hull etched with screams. The Ice Bloods.
Renzo tossed Tatsu a dagger forged from dead star shards. "Stick with me tonight. The factions will test you. Dawnbreakers might challenge you to a duel. Icebloods will try to poach you. Ghostwalkers…"
"Will what?"
"Whatever's fun."
As they turned to leave, Tatsu glimpsed the Seven Anchors high above, observing from their tower. The First Anchor's hollow gaze seemed to pierce the distance, lingering on him.
Nyxis stirred, its voice dripping malice.
"You see? They fear what you'll become. Let me show youwhy."
Tatsu clenched his relic-scarred hand. "Not tonight."
The entity laughed, but there was a flicker of something new in its tone, a spark of respect.