Awakening a Star required a trial: either danger, pain, or revelation.
Cassandra was struck by lightning during a spar, Rowen nearly suffocated in a collapsed tunnel, and Sylen fell into a freezing river. Each was pulled into fate by force.
I found mine in silence.
The room was empty, servants gone, lights dimmed.
Six days of thinking, feeling, watching changed me. It wasn't strength or insight, but presence a constant hum beneath life's noise.
Not power waiting to be used, but acknowledged.
Tonight, I answered it.
I sat on my floor, legs folded, hands on my knees. Breath steady, mind sharper than ever.
I closed my eyes.
For the first time, I didn't reach for a Star. I looked inward.
It didn't come all at once.
At first, only a profound stillness, like stepping beyond movement.
Then—
A single point of light, not light, not fire, not shadow.
Something else, not of any element or concept.
It wasn't a star. It was the space where stars are born. I was falling into it.
The air vanished, not in breath, but in meaning. My body dissolved, time stopped, thought slowed.
I saw it.
It didn't shine. It radiated.
The Origin Star.
A celestial titan suspended in a dimension beyond form. Larger than planets, systems, a cosmic singularity wrapped in motionless gravity. Its core pulsed with rainbow light, not beautiful, but primeval, as though every other color was merely an echo of its heartbeat.
Around it spun twenty orbiting flares each distinct hue, crackling with impossible force. They weren't satellites. They were reflections.
Fire, water, shadow, time, and destruction were bound to it.
I floated in a celestial mindscape, watching the center turn. It acknowledged me, like a king glancing at a prince unknown. In that moment, I understood: I wasn't chosen by the stars; I was built from their source. I wasn't starless; I was divergence incarnate.
Pain came next. It wasn't from the Star; it was from my inability to contain it. My mind cracked, expanding, stretching, and reforming. I saw the world's structure: mana threads, laws bending around will, and Domain fields flickering like broken glass. My heartbeat aligned with a missing frequency. The core, once white and empty, ignited with structure, not fire. Twenty veins of resonance spread, dim but present, as if the stars awaited their names.
I inhaled, and the Origin pulsed. My eyes opened.
I was still in my room, but it was changed. So was I.
The frost on the window vanished not melted; simply unmade. The air buzzed with absolute pressure, everything felt closer. My senses heightened, seeing too much, hearing too far, feeling too deep.
I reached out. A colorless energy pulsed between my fingers. I recognized it, like greeting a friend from birth.
I stood, dizzy-free, with pure, crystalline clarity.
I walked to the mirror. My reflection stared back same black hair, same pale blue eyes. But something changed. In each iris, a faint ring of white starlight glowed, unblinking.
I touched my chest. My steady heartbeat felt different now.
The Origin.
Awake, watching, listening, waiting.
I tilted my head slightly.
Not out of curiosity.
Out of evaluation.
"So this is what they never saw," I murmured. "Not absence. Not failure. Just… a frequency their minds were too dull to register."
The Origin pulsed quietly in my chest.
Steady. Certain.
I could feel it, humming beneath the bones of the world threads of energy coiled around things no one else noticed. Concepts. Intent. Memory. Emotion. Law.
Not mana.
Meaning.
I tapped the glass once.
"I was made to watch. To wait. To listen. And now I understand."
I paused.
I was happy, because everything finally made sense.
"You were always there, weren't you?" I said softly, eyes narrowing. "Waiting for me to stop thinking like them."
"To stop asking for permission."
The silence did not answer.
It didn't need to.
Because I already knew what it would say.
"Good. Then we agree."
I turned from the mirror and walked back to the window.
The estate was quiet.
Lights flickered in the guard towers. Somewhere below, Rowen shouted at a servant. A sibling argued over technique. The cycle repeated.
Predictable.
Scripted.
Small.
"They still think this is a game of realms and bloodlines," I muttered. "Still pretending their stars define their worth."
"But I don't need their star."
"I have all of them."
A deep breath.
Sharp.
Intentional.
"Let them wear their titles like armor. Let them chant about blood and legacy and inheritance. Let them bow to stars they barely understand."
"I'll rewrite the rules."
"I'll make them kneel to me."
The Origin pulsed again.
And this time, I answered without flinching.
"Let's begin."