Astra's room was quiet—too quiet—until the shadows whispered back at him. He felt it before he saw it. A presence. Rank Three. Calm, composed, veiled in a soft pulse of shadow-threaded mana.
His instincts flared.His skin prickled.His shadows curled tighter.
Astra turned, hand halfway to his mana coin, and—
There she was.
Seraphine.
Black hair like midnight silk.Eyes like deep oceans under starlight.And a black dress that clung to her curves like the night itself.
She leaned casually against the far wall like she'd been there the whole time—like she belonged there. Her gaze was calm, but edged with something else. Predatory.
Dangerous.
Astra, half-naked and still dripping from his shower, looked absurd standing there with his sword drawn—but the absurdity didn't matter.
She was here. In his room. Unannounced.That made her dangerous, no matter how stunning she looked.
Seraphine's lips curled into a smile as she stepped forward."You were showering," she said, voice smooth. "So I just made my way in… In fact, you're lucky I didn't just walk in there, you know."
Astra narrowed his eyes, still holding the sword—not quite threatening, but not lowered either.
"Yeah right. They let her in. She's House Dune. If she got past the guards… someone upstairs approves."
He exhaled sharply and finally let the blade dissipate into shadows."You're ridiculous," he muttered, walking past her—still half-naked, only the towel saving the moment from scandal.
He reached his dressing chamber, and just before stepping in, he let the towel drop.Deliberate.Careless. And very Astra.
Seraphine stared. Her gaze was slow, appraising.But she said nothing—at least not yet.
Astra returned in a fitted black tunic, gold-threaded and shadow-tailored to his form. Regal. Effortless. Dangerous.
"So," he said coolly, "why are you here? And what have you known the whole time? Also, why reveal your rank now?"
Seraphine leaned back on his bed, her tone half-playful, half-serious."Eh. I knew you were special the moment I saw you. My mana told me. Then I pieced things together—details I won't share yet. As for why I'm here... I just wanted to see you."
Astra scoffed, bitter.
"Yeah, right. It's all a big game to you, isn't it? Do your House's bidding. Scheme in the shadows. Tease me like I'm just a pawn."
His eyes locked with hers, sharp.
"Dune used me. Shadow used me. Which means you used me. No matter how pretty you are, Princess, I don't forget things like that. You see... I'm a petty man. A very petty man."
Seraphine tilted her head, smile returning."Oh, I don't doubt that. You look like a princess yourself. Petty and pretty
"Pretty enough to behind your fake personality, wearing ego and pride as armor, always acting differently."
Astra rolled his eyes and dropped onto the bed beside her.His posture relaxed, but his eyes stayed wary. Testing her. Still unsure.
"Point proven," he muttered. he hated how she read him.saw through him. yet he felt happy, as if someone actually saw the real him.
"What do you want, Sera?"
The smile faded.
She looked down, her fingers brushing the bedspread… then met his eyes again. A rare vulnerability flickered behind them. A hesitation.
"…You," she said softly.
For a moment, silence.
Then Astra leaned in. No flourish. No words. Just want.
He kissed her.
Because he'd wanted her, badly. And for once… he wasn't going to pretend he didn't.
...
Seraphine stood by the window, slipping back her sleek black dress back over her silhouette with the ease of someone who knew exactly how to wield beauty like a blade. Astra lay sprawled across his bed, the sheets tangled around his waist, his violet eyes fixed on her like a man watching a dream walk out of reach.
For the first time in a long, long time… he'd wanted someone.
Not as a weapon.Not as a transaction.Not as a distraction to numb the ache in his bones.
But as her.
And that realization unsettled him more than blades or politics ever could.
His expression softened despite himself, quietly taking in every curve, every motion, every flick of shadow and starlight that danced around her figure. He felt the weight of memory stir—of the cold hands that once bought his time, of lips he never wanted but had to suffer. This time, though…
This time, he had chosen.
Seraphine caught his stare, half-dressed and radiant in the moonlight. Her lips curved into a playful smile."Like what you see?" she asked, moving closer.
Astra's voice was low, honest."Very much."
She bent forward, kissed him again—soft, lingering, real. When she pulled back, they just looked at each other. No games. No masks. Just the tension of truth neither of them could fully grasp.
"I don't know when or how I'll see you next," Astra said quietly. The warmth began to retreat from his voice like a tide pulling away from shore. "Whether we'll be allies… or enemies."
Seraphine's fingers traced lightly along his chest, and her expression dimmed for a moment."I know," she said. "It's funny… I always thought I was the mysterious one. The hidden princess of the dunes, cloaked in secrets. Turns out, the real enigma was you, Astra."
Astra scoffed. "Please. I saw a whole fan account dedicated to your 'forbidden beauty' once. You've got your own cult."
Seraphine laughed—a musical sound that briefly pushed away the looming future."And you don't?" she said. "Astra Noctis, last heir of Night, the Mythical boy who lives in shadows? I promise you, there are hundreds. Maybe thousands."
Astra smiled despite himself, his expression flickering with something almost wistful.
Seraphine stood tall again, dress clinging to her frame as if she were made of darkness and desert wind. She turned to him with a mock curtsy.
"Well then, Astra Noctis, Prince of the Stars, this humble princess must now return to the Arakkis Dunes." She winked. "You'll be heading to the Shadowkeep in the Umbral Plains. I hear it's charming this time of year—stormy, haunted, bloodthirsty."
Astra's smile faded slightly as she walked to the door."Be careful, Sera," he said, eyes unreadable.
"Be safe, Astra, everyone's after you" she paused, her hand on the doorframe. Her eyes didn't meet his, but her voice turned quiet."I would know. I'm one of them."
Astra felt her fingers brush down his chest one last time—lingering, then gone.
"Goodbye, Sera. I'll miss you," he murmured. "confusing girl."
The door clicked shut behind her. The room was silent again, but it no longer felt empty.
Astra exhaled slowly and reached for his mana device, flipping through the contacts until he found the one he needed.
[VESPER]Astra: Ves. She was here. Seraphine., uhhh I think im in trouble.
The door slammed open with a bang.
Vesper burst in, sword in hand, shadows coiling around his arm like a storm about to break. "Astra! Are you hurt?! I came as soon as I—"
He stopped cold.
Took in the scene.
Astra: half-naked, tangled in sheets. The room still warm with the ghost of perfume and tension. The shadows lazy and content.
Vesper blinked.
Then laughed—loud, incredulous, and damn near doubled over.
"No way," he wheezed, lowering his sword. "Princess on princess action?! Gods, Astra, really?!"
Astra groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "You started that nickname, you know."
"And it aged perfectly," Vesper said, wheezing now, leaning against the doorframe like he might collapse from sheer joy. "I was kidding at first, but now? It's canon."
Astra muttered something vulgar in Old Duskish.
Vesper ignored it. "A real royal desert princess, huh? And here I thought I was the pretty one."
"Anyway, rest up. We leave in ten hours for the Umbral Plains."
He grinned, eyes bright with something fierce and nostalgic. "Aren't you excited, Astra? It's time for you to see my home."
Astra rolled onto his side, a small smile curling at his lips as sleep began to take him. For once, he felt a little less alone.
"…Yeah," he murmured, voice soft. "I'm ready."
Then he was out—swallowed by sleep, shadows curling protectively around him
...
Ten hours later.
Astra walked beside Vesper, the rhythmic echo of their boots striking the polished obsidian floors. But it was Astra who drew every eye.
His suit was unlike any the officers had seen before.
Matte black, yet alive with light, the fabric shimmered subtly with each step—like the night sky itself was woven into it. Constellations arced across his chest and sleeves, stars of diamond and infused mana glowing faintly like embers caught in motion. It wasn't ceremonial. It wasn't decorative. It was a statement.
On his right shoulder: a shooting star, the fading sigil of his forgotten House.
On his left: the eternal ouroboros of House Shadow—devouring its own tail, unending. A symbol reserved only for Majors.
He wore his contradictions plainly.
Born nothing. Cloaked in stardust. Walking as a soldier among living weapons.
As the great doors to the officer's hall opened, every ranked figure inside turned toward him.
The other officers—seasoned Rank Threes—stared. Most were clad in practical battle-leathers or traditional armor-plate etched with marks of victory. They wore scars like medals. Aura bled from their forms, subtle but potent, like a storm waiting behind calm eyes.
But Astra didn't flinch beneath their scrutiny. Why should he?
He met their gazes evenly, his expression unreadable.
He had proven himself, sure—but against Rank Ones. Rank Twos. This was a different arena. To stand among Rank Threes was to stand among warlords in miniature. These were not soldiers. These were seasoned officers.
Alterers of battles. Tacticians of destruction.
And now, he was one of them.
A gruff officer with a bandolier of jagged knives eyed him with open suspicion. "He looks like a painting," the man muttered under his breath, "Let's see if he bleeds like one."
A woman with her hair braided in war-knots leaned in toward another, whispering, "That suit... that's not standard. Who in the Void tailored that?"
Vesper, ever at ease, offered his signature lopsided grin. "Try not to stare too hard," he said. "You'll go blind. Or worse—fall in love."
That got a few quiet chuckles, but the tension stayed. Heavy. Electric.
Astra stood still in the storm of their thoughts, the living sky draped around him, constellations shining defiantly across his chest.
He didn't need to speak.
He was already being measured by the stars.
Astra and Vesper moved to the corner of the officers' hall where a wide obsidian table sat beneath a crystal-glass chandelier flickering with coldlight mana. No one else dared join them.
They sat.
Astra adjusted the cuff of his shimmering suit, his fingers brushing over the ouroboros. "Vesper," he said quietly, "just how are the Umbral Plains?"
Vesper leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, a ghost of amusement flickering across his face.
Astra continued, "There wasn't a lot on them in the mana network. What little there was… vague. Romanticized, maybe. Or deliberately redacted. A land shrouded in deep shadows. Cold. Haunted. Rampant mana. A sprawling city and—" he glanced at Vesper, "—the infamous Shadowkeep."
For once, Vesper didn't immediately tease him. His expression shifted—thoughtful. Almost nostalgic.
"They don't lie," Vesper finally said. "But they don't tell the truth either."
Astra raised a brow.
Vesper leaned forward, resting one arm on the table as his voice lowered, growing more serious.
"Well, here's the thing," he said. "The city stretches across the desert plains—massive and sprawling. Built from black stone, veined with gold. You'll see towers that reach like fangs into the sky, domes carved with constellations, bridges of obsidian that hum with old magic."
Astra watched him closely, captivated.
"My house founders claim that Umbra—the goddess of shadows herself—once forged a pact with the deep shadows that dwell in the Umbral Abyss," Vesper said, his voice now solemn, reverent. "It's at the far end of the city. That's where the Shadowkeep stands. She made that pact to shroud the land in eternal shadow."
"Even from the sun?" Astra asked.
Vesper nodded. "During the day, the sun is barely a suggestion. A pale disc smothered in layered dusk. And the nights—" he smiled faintly, "—are darker than any starless void. It's that shroud that protects the city. From the umbral winds, the heat, and… other things."
Astra tilted his head slightly. "Other things?"
Vesper shrugged, deliberately vague. "You'll learn."
He continued, "Umbra's pact made the land habitable—but barely. The shadows can suffocate outsiders. But those of House Shadow… we were born in it. We thrive in it."
Astra's gaze flicked down. "The city has underground layers too, right?"
"Oh yes," Vesper said, eyes lighting up. "Deep ones. Whole districts carved beneath the surface. Our dead rest down there, entombed with wards to keep their dreams quiet. Some of our schools, our armories, and the Warden's Sanctum—they're all down below. And of course," he added with a chuckle, "our secrets."
Astra smiled faintly. "Naturally."
Then Vesper's voice turned soft again, almost mournful.
"The goddess Umbra," he murmured, "wasn't just the goddess of shadows and curses. In older texts, she was called the Goddess of Mysteries. The Veiled One. The Silent Answer. They say she never spoke her true name. That even the other gods feared to speak it aloud."
Astra listened in stillness.
"She died," Vesper said, "like the rest of them. In the War of Fracture."
"The war that broke the realms," Astra said.
Vesper nodded. "Once, the realms were united. Bound by the gods and the ley threads. But something happened. No one agrees on what. Maybe betrayal. Maybe a prophecy. Whatever it was, the gods turned on each other. Entire realms shattered like glass. Oceans boiled. Skies burned. Cities sank into oblivion. That was the end of their age."
"And the beginning of ours," Astra said softly.
Vesper's gaze lingered on him, suddenly thoughtful. "You ever wonder why none of the gods came back? Even the ones who 'died'… no divine echo. No rebirth."
Astra didn't answer. Because he had wondered. Many times. The tales of Atlas never mentioned it either.
Vesper leaned back again. "Whatever destroyed them… might still be watching."
A strange hush settled between them.
"Welp its time"
Astra rose, his suit whispering with celestial grace as he straightened. The stars woven into the fabric shifted subtly, glinting with a quiet brilliance like they were alive—watching. Beside him, Vesper adjusted the sword at his hip and cracked his neck, eyes already scanning the flow of people ahead.
Together, they stepped out of the officer's hall and into the portal courtyard—an expanse of polished obsidian stone etched with ceremonial lines of old magic, humming faintly beneath their feet.
Before them loomed the portal.
It wasn't a door or a gate. It was a monolith—towering and ancient, built into the very foundation of the fortress. A massive circular archway of carved nightstone, twenty meters high, rimmed in gold and filled with a shimmering veil of shadowlight. Strange runic inscriptions circled its frame, glowing in pale blue and violet, pulsing slowly like breath.
The air around it was heavy, charged with the weight of ages and the unmistakable pressure of mana.
Soldiers, nobles, servants, and merchants moved through the plaza in streams—an orderly chaos of movement. Some wore desert veils and travel cloaks; others carried scrolls, blades, or glowing cargo. Every few moments, another stepped through the veil and vanished into the other side—swallowed by shadow and silence.
High above, black banners whipped in the night breeze, bearing the golden Ouroboros.
The closer they got, the quieter it became. Not from silence—but reverence.
This wasn't just a teleportation gate. This was an ancient threshold. A bridge between dominions.
"Portal's older than House Shadow," Vesper murmured beside Astra."I never not get goosebumps near it."
As they stepped into the threshold's glow, the runes flared. The portal reacted to their rank and mana like a beast recognizing its own. The veil parted slightly, revealing nothing—just layered shadow. Infinite, cold, waiting.
Vesper offered a wink. "After you, princess."
Astra sighed and stepped forward—into the dark.
Astra stepped through the veil of the portal—and emerged into another world.
Cold hit him first, sharp and dry like a blade dragged across skin. The air here was different. It hummed with deep mana, the kind that clung to your bones and whispered secrets to your soul. Shadows coiled along the ground, stretching like living threads, and above—no sky. Only a vast, endless veil of dark mist that shimmered like a dying nebula. Somewhere behind it, a sun might exist, but here, it was a ghost.
The Portal Hall was massive and ancient, built of obsidian and etched with gold veins, filled with guards in ceremonial armor. A hush fell over the chamber as he and Vesper stepped forward.
"Major Vesper," one of the gatewardens saluted, bowing low. "And the Special Major... Astra."
The moment Astra's name was spoken, dozens of eyes turned toward him. Officers, initiates, servants—they all bowed in unison. The weight of their gazes didn't feel reverent. It felt like calculation. Curiosity. Judgment.
Astra kept his spine straight, his constellation-patterned coat trailing like night itself, and gave a subtle nod, the kind of nod only a royal would give without thinking.
Vesper smirked at the side, his voice low. "Try not to look too pretty, princess. They might start offering you suitors."
Astra rolled his eyes, but he didn't reply. He was too busy watching the way the guards bowed to Vesper—not just with respect, but deference. That kind of bow wasn't for a peer. It was for someone… higher.
"Just what exactly are you in House Shadow?" Astra muttered as they strode through the portal gates and out into the city.
Vesper exhaled like he'd been waiting for that. "Well. Here's the thing."
They stepped out into the open, and Astra froze.
The City of Shadows—Shadowfall—unfurled before him like a myth made real.
It stretched across black desert plains, sprawling and massive. Every building was crafted from dark stone, smooth and angular, and laced with gilded designs that caught what little light pierced the veiled sky. Shadowflame lanterns burned along the flooded streets—pools of water and shadowlight mixing underfoot—casting flickering reflections on the walls.
The architecture was impossible—some structures hung suspended in midair by magic, others rose like towers with bridges of shadow connecting them. The whole city pulsed with a dark beauty, equal parts sacred and sinister. And in the far, far distance—at the edge of it all—stood the Shadowkeep.
A fortress that pierced the heavens.
Massive beyond reckoning, it sat at the border of the city and the abyss, where the shadows grew so deep they swallowed sound. The keep was black as a starless void, with hundreds of towers, spires, and shifting shapes moving across its surface. It radiated power—ancient, patient, waiting.
Astra whispered, "Woah."
Vesper chuckled. "Yeah. Gets me every time."
They kept walking, their boots echoing on the slick stone paths as others cleared the way. Then Vesper continued, voice more serious now.
"House Shadow's huge. One of the Greater Houses for a reason. In sheer firepower and numbers, we can rival most of the Royal Houses. Influence? That's another story. We've slipped... since House Night faded. But we've been waiting. Watching. Biding our time in the dark."
He glanced at Astra. "You appearing? Too perfect. Angels always have their schemes—plots layered within plots. But this… this shook the board."
Astra frowned. "And you?"
"I'm a candidate. There are leadership spots in the House—positions you have to earn. I'm competing for one. Velora too." Vesper shrugged. "But I've got... advantages. Unique magic. Divine lineage. And backing—my grandfather's one of the house's elders. So I get a lot of rope. Some people hate me for it. Others just want me dead."
Astra snorted. "Charming."
"Oh, it is. But I'm not just doing this for fun, you know. The power plays here? They're bloodsport. You'll see."
A gust of wind rolled through the city, carrying a chill that cut straight to the bone.
Astra looked up at the veiled sky again. In the distance, faintly, the eternal ouroboros shimmered on the tallest tower of the Shadowkeep.
He tightened his gloves.
"I'm ready."
The carriage was nothing short of regal—glossy black wood etched with golden lines, pulled by beasts clad in armor made of dark leather and shadowsteel. As the two Majors stepped in, the doors shut with a whisper, and the carriage began its smooth, silent glide across the obsidian roads of the City of Shadows.
Astra leaned back against the plush interior, the faint jingle of mana-tuned chimes outside barely audible. He stared out the tinted glass, watching the city roll past—its towering blackstone buildings veined with glowing gold, its mist-shrouded walkways flooded with the cold light of arcane lanterns. The veiled sky above was painted in layers of deep violet and slate, lit by artificial stars and spell-forged moons.
He exhaled slowly. "So," he asked without turning, "when and how are you ascending now?"
Vesper visibly flinched, one eye twitching as he rested an elbow on the windowsill. "Yeeeahhhh... about that," he muttered. "I'm due to go down the Abyss. Face myself. Or my fears. Or my worst mistakes. Who knows. They were vague on the details."
He chuckled nervously. "When I come out—if I come out—I'll be Rank Two. So yeah. Totally not terrifying."
Astra laughed, dry and knowing. "The things we do for higher cores."
"Yeeaahhh…" Vesper echoed, his voice trailing into silence.
The carriage continued forward until it finally slowed to a halt before the Shadowkeep. Stepping out, Astra looked up—and stopped breathing for a moment.
The gates alone could have swallowed lesser palaces. Black as oblivion, traced in gold and starlight runes, they stood at least thirty meters tall. The walls loomed endlessly upward, fortified with layers of interlocked onyx and darksteel. Towers soared like jagged fangs, some tipped in glowing wards, others capped with silent bells that hadn't rung in centuries.
"Damn," Astra muttered, head tilted. "Who the hell built this?"
Vesper grinned, a little pride in his voice. "Dark Dwarves. A subspecies native to Sahara. Greyskinned, black-eyed, secretive. They built the Shadowkeep as a bulwark against the Abyss... though even now, no one really knows what exactly they were trying to hold back."
Astra's voice dropped. "Terrifying."
"Yeah," Vesper replied quietly, looking up with a rare solemnity. "It is."
The doors creaked open, and a figure awaited them within.
A servant in dark robes bowed low, her face partially veiled in silver lace. "My lords," she said respectfully, "welcome to the Keep. The high chambers have been prepared. If you'll follow me."
The Shadowkeep's interior was vast and ancient—swimming in proud, regal shadows, lit by soft lanterns of gold and violet flame. Golden ouroboros sigils lined the pillars and halls, winding eternally like the promises House Shadow had once made to the goddess Umbra. The floors were polished dark marble, interrupted only by paths of muted silver thread. Obsidian columns soared overhead, and now and then, Astra glimpsed the faint pulse of magic carved deep into the very stone.
Everywhere, there were people. Nobles, servants, scions, militants—their conversations hushed, their eyes sharp. The air itself felt heavier here. Like it remembered.
They ascended a spiraling staircase for what felt like ages, before finally reaching a high corridor with slanted glass walls overlooking the abyssal skyline. The servant stopped at a towering blackwood door inlaid with gold.
"Your room, Major," she said with a bow.
"Thank you" Vesper relied "My rooms on the East quarter Astra"
The doors opened with a gentle breath.
Astra stepped in—and paused.
His quarters were opulent, undoubtedly. Yet it felt… solemn. As though the room had been carved out of silence. High arched ceilings held floating chandeliers of shimmering mana-crystal. The walls were lined with books, artifacts, and folded shadows that moved ever so slightly. A balcony opened up to the city, offering a breathtaking view of the City of Shadows. From here, Astra could see it all—the sprawling blackstone streets, the ghostly mist weaving between towers, the distant Shadowkeep's spires piercing the skies.
It was beautiful, and it was terrifying.
Vesper hovered in the doorway, one hand on the frame. "I'll see you in the morning. Try not to get devoured by nightmares."
Astra cracked a smile. "No promises."
Vesper gave him a lazy wave and vanished down the hall.
Left alone, Astra sat down in a sleek chair near the balcony, gazing out at the dark, glittering city.
He didn't say a word.
Astra stepped onto the balcony, the cold air brushing against his skin like a whisper from the void. He leaned on the obsidian railing, eyes tracing the labyrinth of the city below.
For a city of shadows… there was a surprising amount of light. which made sense, as shadows and light go hand in hand.
Lanterns hung from archways, glowing in shades of violet, sapphire, and ember-gold. Massive arcane screens flickered to life across tall structures, displaying sigils, messages, or illusions of drifting constellations. Veins of mana-light ran like rivers through the streets, guiding carriages and wanderers alike. From a distance, it looked almost like a reflection of the night sky—dark, endless, and scattered with stars.
Ethereal.
That was the word.
The City of Shadows didn't scream its beauty. It whispered it, in hushes of veiled magic and ancient design. Its essence was cloaked in mystery and depth, not absence. It didn't just hide things—it invited you to search for them.
Despite the cold and the weight of history pressing down from the Keep's towers, there was… a certain charm to it all.
Astra let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"It's not just darkness," he murmured, eyes still on the city. "It's a symphony of it."
And he wasn't sure if that made it more comforting—or more dangerous.