For several heartbeats, no one moved.
The chamber was flooded with pale starlight, and the air vibrated with the low hum of ancient enchantments. Dust motes drifted lazily through the glow, each tiny speck reflecting silver and gold. The massive crystal shard at the chamber's center pulsed softly, like a living heart, and within it the dark blade of the Star-Bound Sword gleamed with quiet, waiting awareness.
Miren stood in its light, her hands still half-raised, fingers trembling. Her pulse thundered in her ears, so loud she barely noticed the startled murmurs of the Guardians behind her.
The silver-haired woman took one measured step forward.
"Say that again," she commanded.
Her voice was calm, but beneath it lay an iron weight that had broken far greater wills than Miren's.
Miren swallowed. Her mouth felt dry, her legs weak. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to run back into the safe obscurity of the Archives—but she could not move. The warmth in her chest held her steady, firm and unyielding, like a hand pressed against her heart.
"I am the one it chose," she said again, barely louder than a whisper.
A ripple of shocked murmurs passed through the gathered Guardians.
"That relic has been sealed for centuries—"
"It cannot have a wielder—"
"No living cultivator could resonate with it—"
Lady Aveline raised her hand, silencing them with a single, elegant motion. Her gaze never left Miren.
"And yet," she said softly, "it responds to you."
She turned slowly to face the sword. Her expression sharpened, shifting from measured authority to something almost reverent.
"Star-bound relic," Aveline said, voice edged with command and ritual. "Disengage."
The sword did not move.
Not even a tremor passed through the crystal.
A flicker of something like amusement brushed against Miren's thoughts.
You see?
Aveline's lips pressed together. She extended her hand and summoned a complex array of glowing sigils, ancient and precise. They formed a rotating circle in the air, each rune pulsing with controlled power.
"By the authority of the Celestial Empire," she intoned, "I command you—"
The blade flared.
Silver light erupted outward, a shockwave of celestial force that shattered the sigils into shards of dissolving radiance. Several Guardians stumbled back, shielding their faces as the air itself seemed to tremble.
Aveline did not retreat.
Her eyes widened—not in fear, but in something closer to awe.
"It has accepted her," she murmured. "Truly."
Miren's breath hitched. "I—I didn't mean to—"
Aveline turned back to her, and for the first time, her gaze softened.
"What is your name?"
Miren almost forgot. The question felt distant, unreal.
"Miren," she said.
The name sounded small in that vast chamber.
"Miren," Aveline repeated, tasting it. "I am Lady Aveline, Keeper of Relics. And you have just awakened one of the most dangerous weapons in our history."
The weight of those words pressed down on Miren until her knees nearly buckled.
Dangerous.
Aveline studied her face with a strange mixture of suspicion and curiosity. "Do you know what it is?"
Miren glanced at the blade. "A sword."
Aveline let out a short, humorless breath. "It is Arkel, the Star-Bound Blade. A relic that once decided the fate of empires."
Miren's heart clenched.
Arkel.
The name slid into her thoughts like a forgotten melody.
I like it when you say it, the voice murmured.
Heat crept up Miren's cheeks, though she didn't understand why.
Aveline gestured sharply. Two Guardians stepped forward, careful and tense. "We need to remove her from this chamber," she said. "The relic's awakening has likely triggered alarms throughout the High Ring."
"Remove me?" Miren whispered.
"You are not a prisoner," Aveline replied. "But you are a variable. And the empire does not like variables."
They guided Miren gently but firmly through the crystalline doors into a small antechamber beyond. Stone benches lined the walls, and soft lanternlight glowed from rune-etched sconces. The heavy door sealed behind them with a sound like distant thunder.
Miren suddenly felt very, very small.
Aveline dismissed the other Guardians with a nod, leaving only herself and Miren alone.
"Sit," she said.
Miren did.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence was thick with things unasked.
Finally, Aveline said, "How long have you heard him?"
Miren's eyes widened. "You—you know?"
Aveline smiled faintly. "Star-bound relics only speak to those they resonate with. I have heard their voices myself, long ago."
Miren hugged her arms around herself. "He spoke to me like… like he knew me."
Aveline studied her. "Did he say how?"
Miren hesitated. Flashes of falling stars and warm hands and promises she couldn't remember flickered through her mind.
"No," she said.
That was not entirely true.
Aveline sighed. "You are standing in the middle of something very old, Miren. And very dangerous."
"Why?" Miren whispered. "I'm just a scribe."
You were never just anything, Arkel murmured.
Miren closed her eyes.
"What happens now?" she asked.
Aveline's gaze drifted toward the sealed door. "Now the empire will argue about whether to protect you… or erase you."
Miren's breath caught. "And you?"
Aveline met her eyes.
"I want to know why," she said quietly. "Why the Star-Bound Blade chose a quiet girl who spent her life copying other people's stories."
Miren swallowed.
So did she.