Archer stood silently at the heart of the guild's private garden, watching the morning light spill over the snow-tipped hedges and frost-glazed stones. The air was sharp and cold, brushing against his skin like a warning. Across the small clearing, Melania waited with the stillness of a patient predator. Her silver eyes studied him, shadowed by something he couldn't yet name.
She approached without a sound.
"How are you feeling this morning?" she asked warmly, though her gaze flicked over his shoulders and jaw as if assessing for weakness. "You look well, my love."
"I'm fine," Archer answered. "Though… my mark feels strange."
Melania tilted her head, her expression sharpening with interest. "What do you mean?"
Before he could respond, an icy shock tore through his chest. He dropped to one knee, one hand clawing at the ground as the star-shaped Celestial Mark burned white-hot. The garden dissolved into blinding radiance. A vision—no, a hundred visions—smashed into him at once.
He saw forests burning beneath a violet sky. He saw a city collapsing into itself like a dying star. He saw a woman with gold eyes whispering, It begins.
And overhead, he saw the moon crack.
The pain vanished as abruptly as it came. Archer gasped, lifting his head to find Melania kneeling in front of him, both hands cupping his face.
"Artyrion! What did you see?" Her voice trembled—Melania never trembled.
He tried to answer, but the world ruptured again.
A voice boomed through the garden, shaking the air like thunder tearing through stone.
"The prophecy stirs."
A gigantic suit of crystalline armor crashed into existence above them, shimmering with the cold radiance of a newborn star. Glyphs spiraled across its surface, rearranging into Celestial script.
Archer instinctively stepped in front of Melania, drawing on his magic—until the helmet opened and revealed the serene, weathered face of a gray-eyed old woman. Threads of light trailed from her form, swaying like ribbons in an unseen wind.
"Who…?" Archer muttered.
The woman's eyes widened. "Oh? You can speak while under Celestial pressure? How delightful."
She reached out and gently tapped his nose.
A shockwave exploded outward, flattening the bushes and rippling through the garden walls. When the energy settled, Archer found himself suspended in weightless light, surrounded by drifting fragments of broken constellations.
"Artyrion of the Celestial Expanse," the woman said, her voice suddenly layered with countless tones—young, old, male, female, all at once. "Your time of wandering ends. Your awakening begins."
Melania moved to stand beside him, wings flaring protectively. "Identify yourself. Now."
The old woman smiled kindly. "Melania Nightshade. Fierce as always. But hush, child. This is not your moment."
With a dimming crack, the Celestial armor folded away. The woman—small, fragile, deceptively harmless—stepped through the remaining light as if it were a curtain.
"I am Seraphina," she said at last. "High Oracle of the Celestial Accord."
Archer frowned. "There's no such thing."
"There wasn't," she replied cheerfully. "Until you existed."
Melania's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
Seraphina moved closer to Archer and placed a hand over his heart. "Within him is an ancient spark—a piece of the original starlight. A fragment of the First Creation."
Archer blinked. "That sounds… dramatic."
"Oh, it is," Seraphina agreed. "Tragically so."
Before he could protest, she snapped her fingers. A spiraling doorway of silver runes opened beneath them. The world warped, dragging all three into the Celestial Realm.
---
The Celestial Realm
They landed atop a colossal circular platform floating above a whirling nebula. Pillars of glass and star-metal arched into a swirling sky painted with shifting colors. In the center stood a dais carved with the same seven-pointed star that marked Archer's chest.
Seraphina tapped the dais with her staff.
The symbol ignited.
The moment it did, Archer staggered back, clutching at his chest as a wave of heat erupted from the mark. The light flowed out of him, taking shape before them. When it solidified, Archer found himself facing a gigantic armored figure—an Astral Knight formed entirely from shimmering energy.
The knight knelt before Archer.
"Master," it rumbled, voice echoing across the realm.
Archer nearly choked. "I— What? No. Stop that."
Seraphina clapped her hands. "Excellent! Your Astral Avatar responds perfectly. You're progressing faster than expected."
"Expected?" Archer demanded, trying to take a step back before the Avatar rose to its full, terrifying height. "I didn't sign up for any of this."
Seraphina sighed. "Stars rarely ask permission before they are born."
Melania laid a hand on Archer's arm. "What does this mean for him?"
The Oracle turned solemn. "Artyrion is the fulcrum. Without his awakening, the prophecy collapses. And should it collapse…"
A crack split the sky above them. Through it, Archer saw something vast and formless gnawing at the edge of existence—an amorphous shadow, whispering in a language that tasted like ashes.
Seraphina continued softly.
"Reality unravels."
Archer's breathing hitched. "So I'm supposed to… what? Fight that thing?"
"Oh no," Seraphina replied gently. "Not alone."
She raised her staff. Light poured out, forming four glowing silhouettes.
One wielded a spear of stormlight.
Another carried books that burned with living flame.
A third stood cloaked in twilight shadow.
The fourth bore wings like fractured moons.
"The Four Pillars," Seraphina said. "They will awaken soon. Together, you will hold back the Sundered Fate."
Melania tightened her grip on Archer's arm. "What must he do now?"
The Oracle pointed at the floating seven-pointed star.
"Complete the Choosing."
The platform shook as ancient mechanisms awakened. Seven paths unfolded from the central dais, each made of different materials—obsidian, crystal, wind, fire, water, starlight, and shadow. Each path led to a floating monolith humming with unique energy.
Archer stared. "…Why do I feel like picking wrong will kill me?"
"Because it might," Seraphina said sweetly.
"Great."
Melania stepped forward. "Then he chooses none. He is not ready."
Seraphina shook her head. "Refusal is not an option. The mark will force the choice eventually—painfully."
Archer exhaled slowly. "Fine. I choose…"
He hesitated. Every path pulsed with a lure—strength, power, clarity, destruction. But one drew him more than the rest: the star-lit path, shimmering like a promise.
He stepped onto it.
The monolith blazed with light, releasing a shockwave that hurled Melania backward. Seraphina wrapped her in a protective barrier while Archer was lifted into the air, suspended above the monolith like an offering.
The star on his chest exploded in a radiant pulse.
His consciousness blurred.
---
The Vision
He stood in a shattered future.
The sky was cracked.
Cities floated in ruins.
Blood-red lightning split the horizon as armies clashed across burning plains.
At the center of it all stood Archer—older, battle-scarred, wearing armor made of living constellations. His future self raised a blade forged from a collapsed star…
…and faced a monstrous being wrapped in chains of broken fate.
Archer tried to move toward them, but the world dissolved. A whisper curled into his ear.
"Do better than I did."
Then everything shattered.
---
Return
Archer collapsed onto the platform, chest heaving. The monolith dimmed. The seven paths folded back into the floor.
When he finally pushed himself up, Seraphina knelt beside him.
"It is done," she said. "You have chosen the Path of the True Star."
Archer swallowed. "That… thing I saw. Was that actually me?"
"A possible you," Seraphina answered. "One of many. But the prophecy is not static. Every choice can bend its shape."
Melania rushed to Archer, pulling him into a fierce embrace. "You scared me."
"Sorry," he whispered.
Seraphina stood, tapping her staff once more. "Your powers will grow quickly now. Prepare yourself, Artyrion. The Sundered Fate stirs earlier than expected."
The sky cracked again—this time with an ominous, distant boom.
"Time runs thin."
She snapped her fingers.
The Celestial Realm vanished.
---
Back in Elysium
Archer and Melania landed in the garden where it all began. Frost shook from the branches like startled birds. The world seemed the same—but Archer felt different. Hollowed out. Overfilled. Both.
Melania cupped his cheek. "We'll face this together."
He nodded. "Yeah. Together."
A distant heartbeat echoed in his skull.
A warning.
A countdown.
Archer exhaled, steadying himself.
The prophecy had begun.
And so had the change.
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