The corridors were nearly empty.

  Torchlight flickered along stone walls, shadows stretching long and thin like they were listening.

  Lucien walked with his hands tucked into his sleeves, steps soft out of habit. The castle slept—but after everything that had happened, sleep felt more like surrender than peace.

  That was when he heard it.

  A voice.

  Low. Urgent.

  Lucien slowed.

  Leon stood at the far end of the hall, half-turned away, one hand pressed to a small crystal inset into the wall. The object glowed faintly—pulsing once… twice.

  “…no, not yet,” Leon said quietly. “It’s too soon. I need more time.”

  A pause.

  Lucien stepped back instinctively. Shadows curled around his feet.

  Leon exhaled through his nose. “I know. I know what’s at stake. Just—trust me.”

  The crystal dimmed.

  Leon rubbed a hand over his face, shoulders sagging.

  Then he turned.

  Their eyes met.

  For a heartbeat, neither spoke.

  Leon’s expression shifted with effortless precision—surprise melting into a crooked grin as if nothing had happened.

  “Lucien,” he said lightly. “You’re up late.”

  “So are you,” Lucien replied.

  Leon chuckled. “Couldn’t sleep. Too much excitement lately.” He gestured vaguely. “End-of-the-world type stuff.”

  Lucien watched him.

  Not accusing.

  Not probing.

  Just watching.

  “Everything alright?” Lucien asked.

  Leon waved a hand. “Yeah. Just friends back home.”

  Lucien nodded.

  He didn’t press.

  Leon noticed.

  And for the briefest moment—

  His smile faltered.

  “Hey,” Leon said suddenly, tone brightening. “You look like someone kissed you and ruined your ability to think.”

  Lucien stiffened. “What?”

  Leon laughed. “Relax. You’re terrible at hiding things.”

  Lucien looked away. “It’s nothing.”

  “Sure,” Leon replied. “And I’m the God of Destiny.”

  They walked side by side, boots echoing softly.

  After a moment, Leon spoke again—quieter now.

  “You ever notice,” he said, “how everyone here wants something from you?”

  Lucien didn’t answer immediately.

  “Yes,” he said at last.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Leon nodded, gaze forward. “Figured.”

  They reached the turn toward the dormitories. Leon leaned against the wall, folding his arms.

  “There’s still a week before the second trial,” he said. “I was thinking… maybe we get out of the city.”

  Lucien’s brow lifted. “Out?”

  “Short mission,” Leon said. “Couple days. Nothing official. Just breathing room.”

  Lucien studied him. “Why me?”

  Leon didn’t hesitate.

  “You don’t treat me like a tool. Or a rumor. Or a threat.”

  He smiled again—but softer.

  “And honestly? I trust you.”

  Something tightened in Lucien’s chest.

  “Alright,” he said. “Where?”

  Leon’s grin widened—almost too quickly.

  “I’ll show you tomorrow.”

  They reached the doors to the men’s quarters.

  Leon paused.

  “Oh—and Lucien?”

  Lucien turned.

  “If anyone asks,” Leon said casually, “we were just out walking. Talking about nothing important.”

  Lucien nodded. “Of course.”

  Leon lingered a second longer.

  Measuring.

  Then he clapped Lucien on the shoulder and headed down the hall.

  Lucien watched him disappear into shadow.

  The darkness at his feet shifted uneasily.

  That night, as Lucien lay staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just agreed to something far more dangerous than he understood.

  And somewhere else in the city—

  A plan adjusted itself.

  Quietly.

  Patiently.

  Waiting for the second trial to begin before it truly struck.

  Lucien woke before the bells.

  That alone surprised him.

  The city beyond his window still lingered in half-sleep, smoke from early kitchens curling lazily into pale morning sky. His body felt… steady.

  No ache.

  No tremor.

  No shadow residue clawing at his ribs.

  Just quiet readiness.

  Like the calm before a blade left its sheath.

  He dressed quickly—dark tunic, boots pulled tight—then stepped into the corridor.

  Leon was already there.

  Leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, pack slung over one shoulder like he’d been waiting a while.

  Too long.

  “You always wake this early?” Lucien asked.

  Leon grinned. “Only when I don’t want anyone noticing I’m gone.”

  They slipped away before the city stirred.

  Leon led him through a narrow stair hidden behind a false wall, then down—deep into stone corridors so old the torch brackets had melted into the rock itself.

  Lucien frowned. “How do you know about this place?”

  Leon didn’t slow. “I make a lot of friends.”

  “That doesn’t answer—”

  “When people drink,” Leon said lightly, “they spill more than just vomit.”

  Lucien snorted despite himself.

  Leon glanced back, satisfied.

  “I’m a nobody,” he added casually. “Commoner. No bloodline. No wings. No crown waiting for me.”

  His smile thinned.

  “I need all the help I can get.”

  It sounded reasonable.

  Lucien let it rest.

  They emerged miles beyond the city walls, where stone surrendered to trees and dawn filtered through moss-thick branches. The forest here felt different.

  Older.

  Untouched by the gods’ games.

  “So,” Lucien said as they walked, “where exactly are we heading?”

  Leon hesitated.

  Just a breath.

  Then—

  “There’s a weapon,” he said. “From before the war.”

  Lucien waited.

  “It belonged to the first Hero of the Celestial Light,” Leon continued. “Before Loric. Before the angel they worship now.”

  Lucien’s steps slowed.

  “Alicia’s mother.”

  Leon nodded. “Aurora. The Hero of Stars.”

  The name lingered.

  “They say she commanded starfire,” Leon went on. “Not light. Not flame. Something older. Something colder.”

  He stepped over a fallen branch.

  “She fought in the war. Survived it. Then vanished.”

  Lucien said nothing.

  “When the Queen of Time fell and the king had no heir,” Leon added quietly, “Aurora offered herself. Carried the child.”

  “Alicia.”

  Lucien’s jaw tightened.

  “She retired after,” Leon continued. “Left her weapons on the battlefield. Two daggers made of true star matter. They say they can cut through light itself.”

  Lucien looked at him carefully.

  “And you want them.”

  Leon shrugged.

  “Rumors say whoever wields them can become a knight of the Hero of Stars. Not her equal.”

  “But closer than anyone else.”

  “And that helps you survive the Trials,” Lucien said.

  Leon’s smile flickered.

  “I think it’ll help someone survive.”

  Lucien studied him.

  “And you need me because…?”

  “You’re the strongest person I know,” Leon replied easily. “And I don’t plan on dying out here.”

  It was honest.

  Mostly.

  They traveled until dusk, cutting through twisted beasts and territorial creatures whose eyes lingered too long.

  By nightfall, both were bloodied and exhausted—and no closer to their goal.

  Leon built the fire.

  Lucien lay back in the grass, staring at the stars as sleep pulled at him.

  “We’ll reach it tomorrow,” Leon said softly. “We’ll be back with days to spare.”

  Lucien hummed, already drifting.

  Later—

  Long after his breathing evened—

  Leon rose.

  Quiet as a thought.

  The forest swallowed him whole.

  From his pocket, he unfolded a worn piece of parchment.

  A drawing.

  A man.

  A woman.

  A child between them.

  Behind them—

  A blank flag.

  No sigil.

  No crest.

  No faction.

  Leon stared at it for a long time.

  His jaw tightened.

  “Soon,” he whispered.

  He folded the paper carefully, slid it back into his coat, and returned to the fire.

  He lay beside Lucien as if he had never moved.

  Above them—

  The stars watched.

  And said nothing.