Elara didn't remember collapsing, but when she opened her eyes, she was in a bed of woven light.
Literally.
The mattress beneath her shimmered with a fine lattice of starlight strands, soft as silk, glowing faintly under her body. She blinked at the crystalline ceiling above her, where constellations shifted in real time. It felt like lying inside the galaxy itself.
Then the pain arrived—sharp and unforgiving, spreading from her ribs outward like cracking ice.
Cassian appeared at her side within seconds. His tunic was bloodied, but his face was intact, carved from concern and shadow.
"You're awake," he said, kneeling. "Good."
Elara tried to sit up and failed. "Where am I?"
"Sanctum of the Skyborn," he said. "Healer's wing."
"I exploded a person."
He smiled grimly. "You dispersed a shadow construct. Not quite a person."
"But still... I exploded something. With stars. I felt them inside me, Cassian. Like heat and music and rage." Her fingers clenched the edge of the bed. "It wasn't me. Or—was it?"
Cassian nodded toward the glowing ceiling. "The Sidera sings through you. That much is clear. The Seers believe you've only awakened the first layer."
"That wasn't even full power?"
"No. That was a scream."
"Terrific," she muttered.
A soft voice interrupted them.
"She must be tested."
A woman entered, long braids of moon-silver falling to her waist. Her armor was delicate but deadly, marked by the seal of House Sky.
"Commander Siva," Cassian said. "This isn't the time—"
"You brought the Fulcrum into our walls. She flares with untethered celestial force. She is untrained, and now we've lost three ward gates because of that burst." Her pale eyes pinned Elara. "She must enter the Crucible."
Elara blinked. "The what now?"
"The Crucible of Stars," Cassian said quietly. "A trial. It determines whether the starborn are allies or abominations."
"Wow," Elara said. "I'm either a hero or a monster. Love that for me."
Siva didn't blink. "Aetheros cannot afford to wonder. You'll enter the Crucible tomorrow."
Cassian opened his mouth, but Elara raised her hand.
"No. She's right. I don't trust myself either."
That night, Elara sat alone in her chamber. No windows. Just the endless star-ceiling above and the soft echo of her heartbeat.
She stared at her hands. Pale, trembling. There was no mark, no brand, no sign that she'd channeled celestial power strong enough to rupture magical armor.
But she remembered it.
The way her veins glowed. The sensation of being watched—no, guided. And the whispers, oh gods, the whispers:
"We have waited so long for you, daughter of the Rift…"
She shivered.
A knock came.
Not Cassian. This time, it was a different figure.
A woman about her age, dark skin like deep bronze, eyes ember-red. She wore no armor, only a long robe marked with constellations.
"I'm Tyrene," she said. "I'm here to prepare you for the Crucible."
"Are you my trainer?"
"Of a sort," she said, entering. "I'm what you'd call a... starmage."
Elara raised an eyebrow. "And what does that mean?"
"It means I know how not to implode a room when the stars call your name."
Useful.
They began immediately. Tyrene lit a small orb that hovered mid-air, shifting between shades of starlight.
"Focus," she said. "Feel the pulse of your breath. Now, reach—not with hands. With intention."
Elara tried. The orb fizzled. Then flared. Then shattered like glass.
Tyrene only smiled. "Not bad."
They tried again. And again.
Elara failed every time—but failed forward. By the third hour, she could hold the orb steady. By the fourth, she made it flicker in a rhythm that matched her heartbeat.
"This... feels like science," Elara murmured.
"It is," Tyrene said. "Celestial magic is pattern, frequency, resonance. Same notes. Different language."
Elara's eyes lit up.
Maybe she could do this.
The next day dawned blue-black.
The Crucible chamber sat beneath Lunareal's palace—deep in its core, a dome of polished stone inscribed with thousands of glowing names. The names of those who had entered and emerged. And those who had not.
Cassian stood by the gate, armor reforged, sword sheathed. His eyes locked with Elara's.
"You don't have to prove yourself to me."
"I'm not," she said. "I'm proving it to me."
Tyrene placed a hand over her heart. "The stars know your name. Let them see your truth."
The gates opened.
Elara stepped into the dark.
Inside, there was nothing.
Then: a voice.
"Who are you when no one remembers your name?"
Elara stood alone in a void.
Suddenly, her brother appeared—Ollie. As he'd been the day before the crash. Smiling, teasing, brilliant.
"El," he said. "You left me."
Tears sprang to her eyes. "No—I didn't—"
"You chose another world. Another sky. What about ours?"
The stars around her flared. The illusion wavered. She stepped back.
"No," she said. "This isn't real."
The scene shifted.
Her university. Her ex, James. Her empty apartment. Her professor telling her she'd never be more than a lonely girl with a telescope and a broken past.
"You are a mistake," they whispered.
Elara dropped to her knees.
The stars flickered again.
And then she screamed—not in fear, but in defiance.
"I AM NOT MY GRIEF!"
The void shattered.
A wave of light burst from her chest, forming rings around her like orbiting moons.
And then she stood, tall, glowing, radiant.
The stars whispered in awe.
She remembers. She chooses. She becomes.
When she emerged, hours—or years—later, the Crucible chamber went silent.
Cassian stepped forward, eyes wide.
Tyrene fell to one knee.
Siva bowed her head.
Above them, a new name etched itself into the stone wall—written in flame:
ELARA THORNE. STARBORN. FULCRUM. UNYIELDING.