The stars fell into alignment, connecting line by line—this was the [Trail of Stars], the celestial order the Tarnished had envisioned.
A star must be vast. A star must be radiant.
"Whoa... I really impressed myself with that one." As the swing concluded, the Tarnished felt a hollow ache in his core. That single strike had drained more than half of the mana stored within the blade. It seemed he would need considerable practice to master magic consumption.
"Well... looks like Stormveil is going to need some renovations." He shrugged, looking up at the massive hole he had just blasted through the ceiling.
He turned his attention to his curved blade. Due to the sheer volume of glintstone energy from the previous strike, the blade had been reshaped. It had lost its former savage, jagged edge, but its lethal intent had only sharpened.
"...A Newel Moon?"
Indeed, the blade had transformed into a graceful, crescent curve. The cold radiance of the Zamor steel and the lingering golden motes of Grace were etched onto the surface like stardust scattered across a moonlit sky.
"Funny. A glintstone strike resulting in a moon-shaped blade. I suppose for me, the stars and the moon were always two sides of the same coin. No matter—time to head to the Academy."
When the Tarnished returned to the cliffs outside the Academy, he found a sorcerer sitting by the outskirts of the church. The man had a shaved head that rivaled Patches in its shine, but unlike Patches' greasy, devious air, this man was staring blankly at the sky. His eyes held a mixture of longing and profound self-doubt.
"What are you looking at?" the Tarnished asked, approaching.
"It was... an absolutely breathtaking display of sorcery. Truly beautiful," the man whispered, still mesmerized by the lingering stardust in the sky. Then, the light in his eyes flickered out. "Ah, forgive me. I didn't notice you. Please excuse my rudeness."
"Don't worry about it," the Tarnished chuckled.
"Oh... you're a Tarnished, aren't you? Are you headed through Liurnia to reach the Altus Plateau?"
"That's the plan."
"Um... could you spare a few Runes? I won't take them for nothing. I was once a student at the Academy. If you can share some Runes, I can teach you a few sorceries... though they are merely low-level ones that aren't worth much." The man gave a self-deprecating smile.
The Tarnished noted the man didn't wear a glintstone crown. The Academy bestowed crowns modeled after Great Masters only upon those with "potential." Those without were deemed failures—or [Waste-Stones].
(Let the old fossils at the Academy judge. They can't even agree on their own celestial maps, let alone a person's worth. Every teacher has something to offer.)
"Deal." The Tarnished handed over a generous sum of Runes.
"Thank you... you're very kind. I am Thops. I'll teach you what I know, but please, don't laugh if it's beneath your skill."
Thops proved to be a patient teacher. While Sellen had covered most of the basics, Thops taught him a spell called [Starlight]. It created a small, hovering orb of light. For a man who spent his time crawling through dark tunnels and catacombs, it was far more practical than a giant comet.
"This 'Starlight' is perfect for a guy like me," the Tarnished praised.
"I'm glad you find it useful." Thops sighed in relief. "To thank you properly, let me tell you what I know of this land."
Thops explained that during the Shattering, Raya Lucaria chose to seal its gates and remain neutral. They blocked even the road to the Capital. To enter, one needed a Glintstone Key.
"Those of us left outside can no longer return... and for a bluntstone like me, a key is a distant dream."
"You want to go back?"
"I happened to be outside when the seal was cast. I just want to return to that hall of learning once more."
The Tarnished looked at him. "Tell me something. What do you know about Sellen?"
"Lady Sellen? She was a genius. Such a brilliant, lovely woman... I simply cannot believe she committed the atrocities they claim. They call her the Graven Witch now."
"What are the rumors?"
"They say she sacrificed fellow sorcerers to explore the Primeval Current. The Academy considers her as dangerous as Smarag."
(The Primeval Current...)
"But I think," Thops added, "she was simply a reformer who clashed with the conservatives. She chased the origins of magic, while the Academy chose the safety of stagnation."
"A simple conflict of interest, then." The Tarnished nodded. Thops was too kind to speak ill of anyone, but his perspective was clear. "I'll keep that in mind. And about that key..."
He pulled the Glintstone Key from his belt and held it out.
"This is... a Glintstone Key! No... I cannot take this," Thops stammered, waving his hands.
"Take it. You clearly want it more than I do."
"No... you need it. There is something inside the Academy that a Tarnished like you requires. A Great Rune resides within those walls."
"A Great Rune is in the Academy?"
"Yes. It belongs to the Carian Royalty. Please, keep the key for yourself. If you happen to find another one inside—perhaps one left behind by a departing student—only then would I ask you to spare it for me."
"Fair enough. I'll keep an eye out."
The Tarnished returned to the main gate. The key hummed, outlining his silhouette in blue light before dissolving the barrier. He stepped through, expecting quiet halls, but found himself in a high courtyard.
"Wait, this isn't the gatehouse. This is further in. A warp?"
Suddenly, the sounds of steel and mocking laughter broke the silence.
"Where are you going, Bloody Finger?"
"Hmph. Yura... you're as persistent as a tick. You're as annoying as that other Tarnished. If I didn't have orders to leave him be for now, I'd kill you both." A man dressed in black feathers—Ravenmount Assassin—spat his words like venom.
"Whether you can get past this old man is another matter entirely," Yura replied, drawing his longblade.
"You're so arrogant, Yura. Eleonora has already abandoned you. You're a failure. You have nothing."
"Better a failure than a madman." Yura raised his massive blade, the Nagakiba, over his head. With a sudden, explosive lunge, he thrust forward with terrifying reach.
"Everything you do is futile! Kill as many as you want, the Bloody Fingers are eternal! You'll become one of us in the end, just like she did!" The Assassin, Ravenmount, leapt into the air, his feathered cape flaring out like the wings of a predatory bird.
"Silence!" Yura sheathed and drew in a blur, knocking the assassin out of the sky.
"Oh...? Not completely useless, then." The assassin wiped blood from his chest and licked it. "Sweet... I wonder how yours tastes?" He vanished into a shadow, leaving only black feathers and cracked stone in his wake.
The Ravenmount Assassins were masters of the hook-claws. After a few frenzied exchanges, Yura was sent flying, blood spraying into the air.
"You're too old for this, hunter... your blood is as stale as your resolve."
"Dammit..." Yura struggled to stand, his grip on his sword still white-knuckled. "I will become a Shura if I must... I will kill every last one of you demons. For the innocent... and for Eleonora."
"A Shura? That legend from the Land of Reeds? A god of slaughter? From a pathetic old man like you? Don't make me laugh—"
"If he's not enough," a cold voice cut through the courtyard, "how about me?"