"Some truths don't rise—they wait, patient as breath, until you're steady enough to hold them."
It wasn't the usual carved stone, or the glowing Vale-light, or the trembling air of a Convergence.
It was a long, sloping plane of gray that darkened slowly as they walked, like the world was dimming the lights before a performance.
Aarav stepped forward first, still steadying himself after the Threshold of Recognition. His heartbeat finally matched itself, but the echo of the Vale's test still thrummed faintly in his rib cage.
Meera stayed at his left, Amar at his right.
Older Aarav trailed close behind, watching the shadows as if remembering a threat he hadn't warned them about yet.
Arin's staff hummed with a nervous light.
The boy walked in the center of the group, protected by every adult instinct present.
The King followed at a slow, deliberate pace—an anchor, a sentinel, a presence with more gravity than the path itself.
The air grew colder.
Then still.
Then expectant.
Aarav felt it before he understood it.
"This place is listening," he whispered.
Arin swallowed.
"It always listens. But this is… different."
The King nodded.
"This is the Court of Constellations."
Meera frowned.
"That sounds poetic. Which usually means terrible."
Arin exhaled, focusing.
"The Court isn't a courtroom.
It isn't a trial.
It's an observation."
Aarav's shoulders tensed.
"Observation of what?"
The King answered:
"Of your impact."
Aarav froze.
"My what?"
"Your existence," the King said plainly.
"And the way the Vale now rearranges itself around you."
Older Aarav winced at that.
Aarav swallowed hard.
"That sounds like too much."
"It is," the King agreed.
"And yet, here we are."
The path widened suddenly.
The world opened.
They stepped into a vast field—but not of grass.
Light.
Tiny skyscraper-tall pillars of starlight scattered across the ground like frozen fireworks, each flickering with its own rhythm. The sky above them was black, but the blackness shimmered faintly, as if constellations were hiding behind a veil of thin ink.
Aarav whispered:
"This is… beautiful."
Arin shook his head.
"This is dangerous."
Meera touched Aarav's arm.
"Why?"
Arin pointed at the pillars.
"They are records."
Aarav blinked.
"Of what?"
"Cause," Arin said.
"And effect."
Aarav's pulse jumped.
The King stepped beside him.
"This court sees the possibility of your presence.
Not the truth of your future.
Not the shape of your fate.
But the harm and help your existence _could_ bring."
Aarav exhaled sharply.
"So… judgement?"
"No," the King said softly.
"Recognition.
And then—classification."
Aarav felt cold.
"What does that mean?"
The King gestured toward the pillars.
"Each pillar responds when someone enters the Court.
It shows how the world might shift because of your existence.
It does not say you will cause harm or good.
Only that you have the _capacity_ to."
Aarav stepped forward.
One of the pillars brightened—white-gold.
Warm.
Gentle.
Meera smiled despite herself.
"That one looks friendly."
Another pillar flared.
Black and blue.
Sharp.
Violent.
Amar's hand went to his blade.
"And that one doesn't."
Aarav kept walking.
More pillars flickered to life—
Some bright with hope.
Some dark with destruction.
Some fractal, shapeshifting with new possibilities every second.
Older Aarav watched it all with haunted eyes.
"I hated this place," he whispered.
"It showed me everything I could ruin."
Aarav turned to him.
"And everything you could save?"
Older Aarav shook his head.
"I never looked at those pillars long enough."
Aarav felt like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed.
He moved deeper into the Court.
The pillars grew denser.
Brighter.
Louder.
Not physically loud—resonance loud.
A hum beneath the skin.
The King watched him carefully.
"The Court reacts differently for each person.
Some people barely light a handful of pillars.
Some light hundreds."
Aarav took another step—
And the field ignited.
Hundreds of pillars lit at once.
Hundreds more followed.
A cascade of lights, spreading out like a star field collapsing inward.
Meera gasped.
"Aarav—!"
Arin fell to one knee, overwhelmed.
Older Aarav covered his mouth, trembling.
The boy clung to Meera in terror and awe.
Amar cursed under his breath.
"What does that mean?"
The King whispered, almost reverently:
"It means he is not small."
Aarav's throat tightened.
"I don't want to break anything."
"You might not," the King said.
"But the world needed to see what could break if you did."
Aarav stared at the pillars.
Some glowed with bright futures—
lives saved, storms halted, names remembered.
Others flickered with darker outcomes—
choices that spiraled into ruin, fractures that widened into storms.
He whispered:
"It's too much."
"Yes," the King said.
"It always is."
Meera stepped in front of Aarav and took both his hands.
"It's just showing possibilities. Not truths."
Amar nodded.
"You're the one in control. Not some glowing sticks."
Arin staggered upright.
"The Court reveals potential impact, not destiny."
Older Aarav, voice shaking:
"You lit more pillars than I did."
Aarav looked at him gently.
"Maybe because I'm not alone."
The Court shifted then.
The sky above them opened.
And in the darkness, constellations formed—
Not stars.
Not storms.
Shapes made from the light of the pillars he had ignited.
And at the center of them all—
a constellation shaped like a rising arc.
Aarav whispered:
"What… is that?"
The King answered:
"That is the Vale showing you how it sees you now."
Aarav couldn't speak.
He didn't know whether to feel honored or terrified.
The King stepped closer.
Aarav swallowed.
"Influence?"
"Yes," the King said.
"How your existence changes the world—even when you don't mean to."
Aarav nodded slowly.
"So what's next?"
The Court dimmed.
A new path lit at the far edge—
dark stone
white-gold thread
and a pulse that matched the tone the tower had given him.
Aarav exhaled.
And stepped forward.
"He held it without shaking, and the chamber recognized the shift."