Far from the Primordial Academy, nestled in the heart of the Verdant Ember Dukedom, a serene pond lay undisturbed beneath vaulted obsidian columns. The pond's water was impossibly clear—like crystal shaped by stillness itself—yet it mirrored not the moon above, nor the scattered stars, nor even the silver towers that loomed around it.
Instead, it reflected a sky that did not exist.
It shimmered with constellations foreign to this world, locked in eternal war. Streaks of falling starlight clashed against celestial shadows. Suns bloomed and died like flowers underfoot. This was no illusion, no magic trick of the eye. It was the Celestial Battlefield—its reflection frozen forever in the sacred pond's depths. A battlefield where even gods dared not linger.
Princess Luna stood before it.
She wore a simple robe, stripped of titles and ornamentation. Her silver hair flowed freely, untouched by pins or braids. Her violet eyes—bright and unreadable—were fixed upon the water. Her back was straight, her posture regal, yet her mind wandered.
Earlier that morning, her mother had joined her in her private chambers.
The Empress-consort was gentle, brushing Luna's hair like she had in Luna's childhood. "You're growing up too fast," she murmured, sadness lingering beneath her smile. "You've chosen a path that will burden you with far more than power. I only ask one thing, my Luna. Did you meet anyone interesting during your expedition?"
It had taken a breath of hesitation. Then Luna replied, calm and steady, "Yes."
That had taken her mother aback. She'd leaned in, curious. "A friend?"
"Perhaps," Luna had said. "He is strange. Unpolished. But… luminous."
Her mother had laughed, amused. "Ah, young hearts."
But Luna hadn't laughed. She had simply smiled.
Now, all thoughts of silver brushes and quiet rooms faded. Here, in the presence of the battlefield's reflection, there was only clarity.
Her twelve halos emerged one by one—radiant rings orbiting her chest, glimmering in hues of pale gold. The Light of Solara within her throbbed with warmth. Her Light of Lunara danced, cold and ephemeral.
This was the moment.
Three forces. Her Halo as the foundation. Solara & Lunara providing energy. And the Frozen reflection in the pond guiding the process. Each a layer of reality's veil. Alone, they were power. Together, they were something else entirely.
Luna extended her arms. The lights converged—not violently, but with gravity, like stars forming constellations.
She stepped into the water. It was cold. But not unwelcoming. Her body shuddered as the reflection of the Celestial Battlefield rippled, distorting the starry carnage. Her spirit reached into the mirrored void.
The process of forging a mark was more than energy control—it was communion. With place. With purpose. With acceptance.
She offered her halos. Solara and Lunara offered energy. And the pond offered her a vision.
A world aflame with war. Massive starships shattered into weapons. Miniature solar stars used as explosives. Time and gravity themselves bent into chains. And from it all, a single light emerged.
A mark.
It carved itself across her being—not ink, not energy, but an eternal brand made from truth.
It was the Mark of the Celestial Battlefield. A prelude to domain.
Behind her, the Grand Duke turned silently. He had seen enough. The heavens themselves would be silenced by what she had just accomplished.
She stood alone now. Marked. Crowned. Changed.
---
Meanwhile, in the quiet halls of the Primordial Academy…
Dawn awoke early, before the bells rang. The sun had barely touched the Academy's highest spires. The halls were quieter now, emptied of most students who had returned home.
He had no such place.
Instead, he had made a routine. One built from necessity. One built from will.
Each morning began with meditation. He sat cross-legged on an old platform beneath a solitary skylight, letting the light stir something deeper than thought. Then came physical training—grueling repetitions designed not for strength, but precision. Muscle memory forged like scripture.
Then came reading. He scoured the Grand Archives. Scrolls. Codices. Books. Stones etched with symbols no one had touched in centuries. It was in those pages he had found the foundation for his path.
Yet today… frustration festered.
He had achieved twelve halos. Something even prodigies took years for. And yet—
What now?
He understood the next stage vaguely. The Cosmic Lattice. A metaphysical latticework inside the self. Not organs. Not bones. Something deeper.
To reach it, one needed a fragment of a domain.
And therein lay the impasse.
He understood what a domain was: the crystallization of a concept. A place—or presence—where the rules of reality bent to one's own truth.
But where could a mere student find even a fragment of such a thing?
Dawn punched the ground lightly, brow furrowed. His breathing was calm, but his thoughts were restless.
And then—
He looked up.
There, across from him in the halls, stood a man.
Old. Hunched slightly. Robes like any other assistant or archivist. But there was something… wrong.
No, not wrong. Just… misplaced. As though the man had always been there, but only now remembered to be visible.
Dawn stood slowly. Muscles tensed instinctively. "YOU!!!"
The old man chuckled. Not mockingly. Just warmly.
"Still looking for answers, boy?"
His voice was soft. Not aged. Just… timeless.
Dawn narrowed his eyes. The man looked familiar. Not from dreams. From memory.
The book.
The one called Codex of Ascended Forms.
He remembered the first day he'd wandered into the archives, feeling lost and driven. He'd been handed that book by an assistant he'd never seen before—and never seen again.
He had assumed it was coincidence. But now…
"You gave me that codex," Dawn said, voice flat.
The old man grinned. "So you do remember. Most forget the moment they look away."
"You're not just an assistant."
"No," the man agreed. "I'm far worse."
There was something impossible about the man. He took a step forward—and the air didn't ripple, it remembered him being there before he arrived.
Dawn's instincts screamed at him. Not in fear—but in reverence. This man carried something ancient. Not just power. Concept.
"Who are you?" Dawn asked.
The man tilted his head. "An old fool, perhaps. Or the last keeper of a dying dream."
He knelt—not out of deference, but to sit more comfortably on the grass.
"If you're looking for a domain fragment," he said. "I might be able to help. But first, you'll need to answer a question."
Dawn didn't speak.
The old man's eyes twinkled.
"What is your purpose, boy?"
Dawn's breath caught.
"I—"
"No, not rhe purpose at present. Nor the one was. Neither the one that will be. The true purpose, Timeless, one that keeps you at edge everyday unconsciously."
Silence stretched. A question not of intellect, but soul.
And just as the answer began to form on his lips—
The old man vanished.
No swirl of wind. No sound. Just gone. Like he had never been there.
Dawn stood alone in the training court, the breeze rustling the grass.
But something was different.
The air around him felt charged. Expectant.
And far away, in the reflection of a battlefield frozen in a sacred pond, a single star flickered.
---
To be continued.