The book was right there, front and center, its spine jutted just a tiny bit out.
Most of the tomes on the pedestal were lined up neatly, spines straight, leather aged in the same dignified way. This one was just… wrong.
His throat went dry.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
The last time he'd seen this book, it had descended from the air in a beam of light and landed in his palms during the ceremony. Now it just sat there, quietly breaking formation like a troublemaker at the back of a line.
It looked exactly the same.
Dark leather, almost black, threaded with faint silver lines that looked more like constellations than ornamentation. No title on the spine. No recognizable symbols of any of the gods.
Just an emblem pressed into the cover: a circle of stars, intersected by a single blade of light.
Ryn exhaled slowly, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
In his past life, this had been the moment everything went wrong.
His fingers had almost closed around the book—only for his father's hand to slap it away. The priests had panicked.
Someone screamed "taboo." Then came the replacement ceremony, the mediocre Blessing, and his slow slide into irrelevance.
Now here he was again, in the same room, with no one to stop him.
His hand trembled as he reached out.
"No backing out now," he muttered, more to himself than anything else. "You wished for this."
His fingers brushed the leather.
The world ended. Not like before. Not with monsters, or Evernight, or screaming.
This time, it ended in silence. The air stopped.
Sound died mid-breath, as if someone had taken a knife to reality and cut it into pieces. The faint murmurs from the cathedral, the distant panic over the collapsing bell and broken statue—all of it vanished.
Ryn's breath caught. His heartbeat—still there. A little too fast and loud for his liking.
Tiny motes rose from the surface of the book, like dust being disturbed only visible via sun rays. Only there was no sun here.
The motes shimmered pale gold at first, then deepened to soft white, then bled into a clear, cold silver. Threads of radiance curled upward, wrapping around his wrist, his forearm, his shoulder, weightless and impossibly warm.
His hair lifted in a wind that didn't exist.
"…This isn't normal," he whispered.
Ryn took a step back. When he got his first Blessing, it happened instantly. No time stop, no mess.
Ryn's hand was still on it. He tried to pull away.
The cover of the book split open with a soft, almost reverent sound. Pages fanned out, Ryn took count—a total of eighty-eight.
Then the book faded into light, replaced with something he thought he was familiar with, yet different.
A system screen.
However, this one was a bit different, and it even told him so
[Unique Panel successfully bound to Host.]
"Unique… panel," Ryn echoed.
He'd never seen those words before. Priests explained 'Panels' as a way to quantify a person's blessing, how much mastery they had over said blessing, and what their Aura Rank was.
But no one ever said anything about different types.
The status window pulsed once, acknowledging his focus.
[Notice:]
Standard Blessing Interface has been replaced.
You are no longer bound by default constraints.
"'Default constraints,'" he murmured.
No wonder they called this taboo. Before the thought lingered any further, his own 'Panel' showed.
[Name: Ryn Eden Arctis]
[Title: The Constellation's Blade (Unique)]
[HP: 90 / 90]
[MP: 110 / 110]
[STR: 7]
[DEX: 8]
[END: 9]
[INT: 11]
[Aura Rank: Trainee]
[Blessings: Aquila (S-Rank) - Mastery: 0.0%]
His eyes gazed at the title. The Constellation's Blade.
In his past life, he'd barely even earned a minor title, and it was C-Rank. Never in his wildest imagination would he get a Unique Rank title—just from touching a book.
His eyes widened as he glossed over the numbers.
"…This is insane," he muttered.
Ryn could see the numbers that quantified his stats, how much a day of training or a fight affected them—then he had something no one else did.
Information.
And in the years leading up to Evernight, he learned one thing very clearly:
Information wins wars.
There was one more thing. He had acquired a new Blessing that was never mentioned in any records or books. Aquila.
Ryn blinked, he was curious, but time was up.
A distant slam echoed from somewhere outside the Blessing Hall. Shouts followed—priests barking orders, footsteps rushing in several directions at once.
Of course. Of course, the priests would come inspect the hall after all the chaos outside.
He didn't have time to move, to hide, to pretend he hadn't just witnessed something that absolutely should not happen in any holy chamber ever.
The last glimmer of silver faded from his fingertips just as the doors slammed open.
Light spilled in—lanterns, robes, hurried footsteps.
"Check the Hall—we must ensure no items were damaged during the tremor!"
"Is anyone inside?!"
Ryn's stomach dropped.
Three priests rushed in at once, robes sweeping across polished stone, eyes scanning wildly for damage.
They froze when they spotted him.
Someone who was definitely not supposed to be here today.
One of them gasped. "Y–Young master Ryn?!"
Every nerve in Ryn's body tensed. He forced his expression into mild confusion, as though he'd simply wandered in looking for the bathroom.
"Ah—sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "The door was open. I thought it was part of the tour."
Lie. Total lie. But said with the exact socially-awkward noble boy vibe they expected from him.
Two of them darted forward immediately, as though protecting him from falling debris that did not exist.
Ryn blinked slowly.
…This might actually work.
The third priest hurried toward the pedestal, sweat on his brow.
"His ceremony is tomorrow—if the holy tomes were disturbed…"
He stopped mid-sentence, finger pointed at something behind Ryn.
"How…how's that possible?"
Ryn followed his gaze.
There, sitting neatly on the pedestal as if nothing divine had ever happened, was a single book.
A different book.
The kind everyone received, the same one that he had gotten last time. There were no traces of the weird Constellation book. Whatever entity had owned that book erased its own tracks.
The priest lifted the normal Blessing Tome with reverence.
"This… this must be your Blessing," he said, turning to Ryn with a warm fatherly smile. "Rhea has chosen well."
Ryn kept his face neutral. Inside, a cold sweat prickled down his spine.
He accepted the book with both hands.
The priest clapped gently. "As tradition dictates, please open it. Confirm your Blessing."
Ryn hesitated.
Only for a breath. Then he opened it.
A soft glow—a normal glow, nothing divine—rose from the pages. A line of clean script appeared, familiar and unremarkable.
[Blessing Acquired]
[Enhanced Senses — Rank B]
[Description: Enhances your senses, even your sixth danger sense.]
A good Blessing, slightly better than the average knight, but not anything remarkable. Something any priest would praise a noble son for. But for him…he knew they wouldn't. After all, his lineage was handed A and S-Rank Blessings like they were candy.
Though this time he wasn't upset, it WAS the Blessing that kept him alive til the end of the world after all. But after what he just witnessed…
Well—It felt like someone handing him a wooden spoon after he'd just touched the sun.
The priest forced a polite smile.
"We must inform Lord Arctis," the eldest said, bowing sharply. "A B-Rank Blessing obtained before the ceremony… the Patriarch will want an explanation."
"Immediately," another chimed in. "Before he hears it from anyone else."
Ryn blinked once.
That was fast.
They scrambled toward the exit, robes fluttering, whispering about protocol and "sacred procedure" and "ensuring the family's record stays immaculate."
The moment the doors shut behind them, the hallway fell silent.
Ryn exhaled through his nose.
"…Great."
He already knew what was going to happen. Even if his father was prided in principles, Ryn knew he was the type to freak out over superstition, even if he tried to hide it.
Ryn slid his hand into his pocket and started walking.
"If Dad wants to be mad over a B-Rank, he can knock himself out. I have bigger problems to worry about."
He left the corridor without looking back, boots echoing against polished marble.
…
…
The Blessing Hall stayed quiet for three full breaths.
Then a different door—one that wasn't supposed to exist—clicked open behind the pedestal.
Three figures stepped out.
Their white robes looked identical to clergy garments, but the hems were stitched with silver thread that no temple servant would ever wear. They wore porcelain black masks that covered their faces.
Moving in silence, the one in front knelt immediately, gloved hands sweeping over the pedestal surface.
Another figure scanned the room, eyes narrowing behind the porcelain mask.
"The anomaly was here. We felt the distortion from the observatory tower."
Their voice was soft, filtered, neither male nor female.
"The tome?" the third whispered, urgency cracking through their carefully controlled tone. "Is it here?"
A long silence.
Then—
"No."
The masked leader stood slowly, their movements stiff with dread.
"The Constellation Tome is gone."
All three froze.
Completely.
"That's… not possible," one finally breathed. "It was sealed. Triple-locked. Bound by the 12 Seats themselves! No mortal—no entity—should be able to move it."
"And yet," the leader said coldly, "it has vanished."
Their gaze drifted toward the doorway Ryn had exited minutes earlier.
"…Someone has the Constellation's favor."
Then the leader whispered:
"Weed out the cathedral, the survivor is the thief."