The night in the collapsed star-temple was alive with tension.
Shards of blackened crystal jutted from walls and floors like frozen wounds, faintly glowing with residual resonance from centuries of starfall. The air smelled of burnt stone and ash, thick enough to taste. Even in this fragile sanctuary, the faint pull of the Starbound Crown remained—a constant, insistent tug threading through Aren's chest like a heartbeat not his own.
Lyra sat on the floor, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the faint glow of her own dormant resonance in her palms. She flinched every time the shards hummed, as though each vibration might tear her apart.
"You need to focus," Aren said, crouching opposite her. His own blackened energy pulsed faintly around him, controlled but raw, a reminder of the power he had just barely survived at the crater. "The Crown's influence doesn't care about fear. It only listens to will."
"I… I don't know if I can," Lyra whispered, voice shaking. "Every time I try, it burns me."
Aren's gaze hardened. "Then you'll burn until you can't anymore. That's the lesson. Survival isn't optional here."
Lyra swallowed, nodding. She extended her palm again, this time focusing, forcing her mind to ignore the pain that shot through her body. The shimmer of light trapped under her skin responded, brightening faintly before fading.
"That's it," Aren said, barely hiding the tension in his voice. "Control isn't about power. It's about knowing your limits—and then stepping past them without losing yourself."
Outside, the winds shifted. The Rift Valley groaned as if echoing their efforts. Aren felt it—a subtle vibration, faint at first, then growing into a pulse he could no longer ignore. The Inquisition was moving, guided by the residual resonance he and Lyra had stirred. They weren't far.
Aren rose, blackened light coiling along his arms like living veins. "We don't have much time."
Lyra staggered to her feet beside him, energy flickering wildly in her palms. "How far can I push it?" she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"As far as you can survive," he said grimly. "And even then… the Crown will demand more."
He led her deeper into the temple, toward a collapsed chamber at its center. The floor was jagged, strewn with molten glass and broken relics from a civilization that had once worshipped falling stars as gods. Shadows danced along the walls, cast by the faint glow of residual energy in the shards.
"This is where we start," Aren said. "We train in resonance control. I'll guide you, but your body does the work. Your will directs it. The Crown… it only responds to clarity."
Lyra nodded. "And if I fail?"
Aren's eyes darkened. "You die. Or worse."
She flinched but didn't speak.
Hours passed in silence, broken only by the sound of exertion. Lyra's energy flickered violently, flaring into uncontrolled bursts that sent shards of crystal shattering across the chamber. Each time, Aren forced her to stabilize, focusing her mind through pain, fear, and chaos.
The process was brutal. Every time she tapped into the resonance, the shards called back—humming, vibrating, sometimes slashing her with energy that left temporary burns on her skin.
"You're letting it fight you," Aren said, voice tight. "The shard doesn't want to be tamed. It wants understanding. You don't fight it—you listen."
Lyra gasped, trying to steady herself. She tilted her head, eyes closed, and let the energy flow like water instead of fire. Slowly, painfully, the pulses in her palms synchronized with the faint hum of the blackened shards embedded in the floor.
"Better," Aren said. "Much better."
A faint smile broke through her exhaustion. "I… I feel it. Like it's… waiting for me."
"Good," Aren said. "Then don't disappoint it."
A sudden tremor shook the temple. Dust and debris fell from the ceiling. Aren's senses screamed. He knew that tremor all too well: the Inquisition was approaching.
He moved swiftly to a high vantage point within the ruins, scanning the jagged horizon. Faint silhouettes were already moving through the Rift Valley—a dozen hunters and a single red-robed Arbiter. They were coordinated, methodical, and hungry for the fragments of power Aren had already bonded with.
Lyra stepped beside him, energy flickering in nervous pulses. "What do we do?"
Aren's blackened eyes narrowed. "We fight… but carefully. This isn't about killing them. Not yet. It's about surviving and learning. Every encounter shapes how far we can push the resonance. Every mistake teaches the Crown who we are—and who we will become."
The Arbiter's voice carried faintly across the distance, amplified unnaturally by the residual energy of the star-corrupted valley. "Ash-Bound. Do not hide. The Crown will be reclaimed."
Aren's fingers flexed, blackened light sparking at his fingertips. "Let them come," he said quietly. "They'll learn the same lesson as you: I do not kneel."
The night stretched on.
Lyra and Aren practiced under the dim glow of blackened shards, their bodies trembling from exhaustion but their minds sharpening with every pulse, every controlled surge of energy. They learned to bend the ash around them, to listen to the subtle hums of star-energy in the walls, to anticipate the resonance shifts before they happened.
Hours blurred into minutes. Pain became habit. Exhaustion became clarity. Fear became focus.
By the time the first faint light of dawn touched the edge of the Rift Valley, Aren felt it—the Crown's pull, stronger than before, threading through him with insistent urgency.
The shards are calling. More fragments awaken. They are near.
He turned to Lyra. Her eyes were wide, shimmering with both fear and determination. "You're ready," he said.
Lyra swallowed. "I don't know if anyone could be ready for them."
Aren nodded, blackened energy coiling around his body like a living cloak. "Then we'll make them ready for us."
Beyond the temple, the wind howled. Ash swirled, forming jagged shapes in the air, the first whispers of chaos rising from the fractured world. Somewhere, far above the Rift Valley, the Starbound Crown watched, waiting for the next move.
And Aren Valecar, the Ash-Bound, would lead the storm.