The morning light filtered weakly through the cracked curtains, casting shadows that seemed to stretch unnaturally across the room. Orion awoke with a shudder, his body stiff and his head pounding, as though the Astralum had left an imprint on his mind.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples. The dreams—or was it more than that?—clung to him. The Hollow's voice still echoed in his mind, sharp and insistent: "The power to surpass the stars." It rang through his skull like the reverberation of a bell, leaving him unsettled and unsure.
The warmth inside him was faint, but unmistakable—a lingering pulse that flickered within him like a dying ember. It wasn't Selene. She still felt distant, her presence weaker than before. But this warmth was different, more distant, more foreign.
Orion clenched his fists, as if trying to hold onto the sense of reality. But it was slipping through his fingers like sand. Selene's voice, a soft echo, reached him in a murmur, "You are not alone."
But even that felt fragile.
Orion let out a long breath, his doubts creeping in again. The stars had always been his guides, his companions. But now? He wondered if they were nothing more than chains, leading him on a path he couldn't control.
He stood up and dressed quickly, pushing the unsettling thoughts aside. There was no time for doubt. The trials were fast approaching, and he couldn't afford to be distracted.
But as he walked to the window, looking out at the quiet grounds of the Academy, a thought gnawed at him. Are the stars really guiding me… or are they leading me toward something darker?
The Academy's Assembly Hall was filled with murmurs of excitement and anxiety. Students milled about, their faces a mix of eager anticipation and quiet dread. The Star Trials were the highlight of the year, a chance for every student to prove their worth, to show not just skill, but potential.
Orion and the rest of the cohort stood in the back, observing the scene. He could sense the tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. Everyone was preparing for their moment—some nervously, others with palpable confidence.
At the front, the Headmaster stood, a tall figure draped in ceremonial robes, his eyes sweeping across the gathered students. The moment the hall fell silent, he spoke.
"The Star Trials will begin in two days. This year's trials are different. You will not only face each other in combat, but your actions will be scrutinized by powerful figures from across the continent. Those who perform well may find themselves with new allies—or enemies."
The weight of the Headmaster's words settled over the room like a dark cloud. Orion exchanged glances with his cohort.
Iris remained poised, her expression unreadable, as always. She was already calculating, running through potential scenarios in her mind. Serah was fidgeting, the fire in her eyes a stark contrast to Iris's calm. She was already itching for the challenge. Azrael stood with his usual detachment, his face an impassive mask. But Orion could sense the quiet intensity in him, a focused stillness that was always there.
"We will have no mercy in these trials," the Headmaster continued, his voice ringing clear. "Your performance will determine not just your future here at the Academy, but your place in the world. Make it count."
Orion felt a flicker of unease, but he pushed it down. This was his chance to prove himself. To them—to Selene, to Arden, and to himself.
Later that evening, after the cohort dispersed to prepare for the trials, Orion couldn't shake the feeling that something was pulling at him, something he couldn't explain. His feet led him without thought, down the winding corridors of the Academy, and out into the night.
The Astralum called to him, its presence lingering just beyond the veil of his consciousness, like a distant star whose light had long since dimmed.
Orion stood before the rift, the fissure beneath the Academy, where the Astralum bled into reality. The shadows seemed thicker tonight, the air heavier, thick with a hum that felt like the pulse of the world itself.
As he stepped into the Astralum, the familiar sense of disorientation washed over him. The realm twisted, its shifting geometry folding in on itself. For a moment, he felt lost, but then something—an instinct, perhaps—pulled him forward.
There, in the center of the infinite expanse, he saw it.
A throne. But not like any throne he had ever seen. It was made of mirrors, fragments of light and shadow reflecting a thousand different versions of him. Some of the reflections were clear, others shattered, broken. Each one was a different possible fate, a different path.
Orion took a step closer, drawn toward the throne, his heart pounding in his chest.
The voice came again, cold and echoing. "You walk with borrowed light."
The throne seemed to hum, as though alive with some unseen power. Orion reached out, his fingers brushing the surface of the nearest shard, and the mirrors shattered with a deafening crack, sending a cascade of fragmented images into the void.
He stumbled back, gasping, his mind swirling with confusion. What had just happened? What was he meant to understand?
Before he could collect himself, the voice spoke again, deeper, more insistent. "Not all stars shine to guide."
Then the Astralum vanished and Oriom awoke.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. The words felt like a warning, but a warning of what? He didn't know. He only knew that something in him had shifted, something irrevocable. The echoes of the Astralum—of the throne—were now inside him, impossible to ignore.
The next morning, Orion stood with his cohort once again in the sparring hall, but today felt different. The air was thick with expectation as the instructors moved between the students, observing with critical eyes.
Orion flexed his fingers around the hilt of Lunaris, the sword cool and familiar in his grip. It was his anchor—his connection to Selene. And yet, despite the calm that usually came with wielding it, he couldn't shake the uncertainty in his chest.
Iris sparred against a tall, imposing figure with practiced precision, her movements smooth and fluid, the sonic pulses she emitted barely audible. Serah was already deep in a heated battle with another student, her fiery attacks a blur of flame and fury. Azrael, as always, was a shadow—disappearing and reappearing, his strikes silent and lethal.
Orion stepped forward, facing his own opponent. His sword cut through the air in practiced arcs, each movement careful, precise. But even as he fought, his mind kept drifting back to the Astralum, to the throne of mirrors, and to the Hollow's voice that still echoed in his mind.
"Focus," Selene's voice whispered in his ear, but it felt faint, distant.
He couldn't push the questions out of his mind. What if I'm being led astray?
His blade sliced through the air with fluid grace, but the doubt remained, a shadow behind his every move