The dawn broke with a pale, colorless light, stretching across the spires of the Academy like fingers trying to pull something from the shadows. Orion sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the lines in his palm like they might reveal some hidden truth. His breath came slow. Measured. But the stillness in his chest was a lie.
The warmth was still there—quiet, distant, but alive. It pulsed beneath his sternum like a second heartbeat, and it wasn't Selene. She was silent. Faint. The bond between them had dulled since the Astralum, and he didn't know how to fix it. He didn't even know if he should.
The Hollow's words still echoed in his mind.
"The power to surpass the stars."
He had felt it—raw, immense, impossible to measure. But it hadn't felt right. Not like Selene's light. Not like what he'd trained for.
A knock came at the door.
Orion blinked and stood, letting the noise pull him back to the present. He opened the door to find Azrael waiting, arms crossed, his pale gaze unreadable.
"They're expecting us on the upper training grounds," Azrael said. "Final prep before the assessment."
"Did the instructors say what it'll be?"
Azrael shook his head. "Just that we're expected to 'show potential.' Whatever that means."
Orion gave a quiet nod and followed him down the corridor. The halls were quieter than usual, stripped of the usual clamor. Anticipation had silenced the students. Everyone knew the Trials weren't just a school event. They were a spotlight—and not everyone would survive standing in it.
The upper grounds were shaped like a bowl carved into the cliffs, high enough to see the horizon beyond the sea. Training dummies lined one side, weapon racks another. Staff instructors stood in small circles, scribbling notes, watching, calculating.
No audience. No spectators. Just officials. High-ranking ones.
Orion's cohort was already gathered.
Serah had her hands ablaze, casting off a trail of embers as she spun into a mock spar against a reinforced dummy. She wasn't holding back—her strikes were wild, her control fraying at the edges, but the intensity in her movements was undeniable.
Iris stood off to the side, not sparring, but humming softly—adjusting the resonance of her gloves, each note vibrating subtly through the air. Even that was a form of practice for her.
Azrael watched everything. He hadn't moved since they arrived, but Orion knew him well enough to see the subtle shift in his stance, the way his shadow curled inward. He was coiled like a spring.
"Cohort Twelve," a voice called out.
The group turned. One of the instructors, a tall woman in a dark violet cloak, stepped forward with a clipboard in hand. Her eyes passed over them slowly.
"We'll be evaluating your cohesion, power control, and strategic variation. You may be observed in rotation or summoned for solo demonstration. Understood?"
They all nodded.
The instructor pointed toward the sparring rings.
"Begin."
Serah was the first to step forward, unsurprisingly.
She faced down a conjured golem—taller than her by several heads, its body forged from star-tempered steel. As it moved, its joints hissed with built-up pressure, mimicking a real opponent.
Serah didn't flinch.
She launched herself forward, her footfalls cracking stone as she ignited in midair. Flames roared from her fists and shoulders as she slammed into the golem's chest with a blow that echoed across the arena.
Orion squinted through the flare of light. It wasn't just power—Serah's movements had improved. More intentional. Still unrefined, but there was shape in the chaos.
The golem retaliated with a backhand swing, but Serah dropped low, ash coiling around her as she slid beneath it, leaving a burn mark across the arena floor. She struck again, this time a punch laced with glowing embers that exploded on contact.
The golem staggered. Collapsed.
The observers murmured.
Serah exhaled, steam rising from her shoulders, and walked back to them without a word. Her knuckles were bleeding, but she smiled like she hadn't noticed.
"Nice warm-up," she muttered.
Then came Iris. Her fight was quieter—elegant, even. She danced with her opponent, barely touching them, her sound pulses directing movement like an invisible conductor. When the match ended, the opponent dropped their weapon of their own accord, confused and dazed.
Azrael didn't fight. He disappeared. Literally. Reappeared behind his target. Ended the match in under ten seconds. No theatrics. Just lethal precision.
Then it was Orion's turn.
He stepped into the ring, Lunaris in hand.
His opponent was a blade-wielder too—an older student, stronger build, fast. There was no starflare, no illusions—just steel and instinct.
The match began.
Orion moved on reflex. His sword met the opponent's with a sharp clash, and they broke apart and circled. He breathed, shifted his stance, remembered his training.
Then the warmth inside him pulsed.
Not Selene. Not the Hollow. Something else.
He hesitated—and his opponent rushed in.
Their blade grazed his shoulder. Not deep, but enough.
Orion gritted his teeth and pivoted, bringing Lunaris around in a crescent arc. The reflection of moonlight traced the swing, even without Selene's full power. His blade caught the opponent's mid-strike, knocked it wide, and he stepped inside their guard.
One clean motion. Blade to throat.
"Match," the instructor called.
Orion stepped back, panting. His hand trembled slightly, not from exhaustion—but from something else.
From the heat he felt when he'd struck.
It hadn't been moonlight.
The sparring matches ended before noon, but the weight of them lingered like smoke.
Their cohort was led off the field one by one—each summoned to a different chamber for private assessment. Rumors said these weren't just for measuring skill, but for something deeper. Something to do with the stars themselves.
Orion waited in silence outside the hall, pacing near a cracked pillar. Serah had already gone in. Azrael too. Iris sat on the ledge nearby, humming low to herself—an absent-minded melody that vibrated faintly in his chest.
Then, the door creaked open, and an instructor in dark robes stepped out.
"Orion. You're next."
He followed the figure down a narrow corridor, deeper into the Academy's inner wing—past rows of shuttered halls and curtained archways. The walls were older here. Dusty. Less like a school and more like a place built before memory.
They stopped at a tall circular room lit only by a single skylight.
A stone dais rose from the center, and on it—a strange obelisk.
Not large, not glowing, not even inscribed. Just a shard of dull grey stone, cracked down the middle like it had been broken long ago. But something about it thrummed with quiet tension.
"This is a calibration relic," the instructor said. "You'll place your hand on it and remain still. It attunes to the celestial force within you."
Orion nodded, approaching slowly.
The warmth inside him stirred again—not urgent, just present.
He pressed his palm to the stone.
At first, nothing happened.
Then, the chamber dimmed.
Not the light. Not physically. Just… felt darker.
The relic pulsed once—then again. Not from Orion's lunar brand. Not Selene's echo. This was something deeper. Older.
And suddenly—
He saw himself.
Not in a mirror. Not reflected.
But fractured. Like a thousand shards of glass angled back at him. Each showing a different version.
One with fire in his eyes.
One with nothing but shadow.
One wearing the Hollow's grin.
One without a face at all.
He tried to pull his hand away, but it wouldn't move.
The warmth surged in his chest—not a burn, not pain. A flare. As if in response.
The vision shattered.
The light returned.
He stumbled back, breathing hard. The relic was silent again. Cracked. Still.
The instructor raised a brow but said nothing. Only scribbled something in a black notebook.
"You're dismissed," they said.
Orion didn't speak. He left without looking back.
Evening rolled in quietly, heavy with mist.
The cohort sat together by the edge of the training cliffs. No formal debrief, no celebration—just silence. The kind that came after being seen in ways that couldn't be explained.
Serah had her boots off, her feet dangling over the edge. Her knuckles were still raw, wrapped in old cloth.
"They didn't say anything after mine," she muttered. "Just looked at me like they were trying to decide if I was dangerous."
"You are dangerous," Iris said gently.
Serah didn't deny it.
Azrael was quiet, watching the fog roll in over the sea. "The relics don't just assess power," he finally said. "They see what's underneath it."
Orion didn't speak. His thoughts hadn't quieted since the relic showed him his own face split apart. It wasn't just Selene that had been measured. The Hollow. The other warmth—whatever it was—they had all responded.
Which one of them did it see?
Serah leaned her head back against the stone. "What if they don't pick us?"
"They will," Iris said softly. "We're not the same as the others."
Orion's hand drifted to Lunaris at his side.
He thought of the moment in the sparring ring—when he'd struck, not with moonlight, but something else. Something that had answered him.
He hadn't called to it.
But it had still come.
And deep down, he wasn't sure that scared him.
He was scared that part of him wanted more.
The stars above began to shimmer through the mist. Faint glimmers, like a thousand distant eyes.
The Trials were coming.
And somewhere within him, the silence cracked—just enough for a voice to whisper:
"You are more than one light, child."
Orion looked up, eyes reflecting the starlight.
He didn't answer.
He just watched