CHAPTER 1
Despite the conflicting texts surrounding Dominion’s motives, there is no contest regarding the final devastating event. Without the intervention and martyrdom of Balance, the fallen Empyrean would have surely destroyed the realm, if not the cosmos.
The Shattering: A History
THE CITY WAS A GRAVEYARD long before the Plague took hold.
Astraia pulled her hood lower as she slipped through the narrow alley, the fabric damp with sweat, though dawn had barely broken.
Even before the sun crested the rusted rooftops, heat rippled from the cobblestones, thick with the breath of too many bodies, too little hope.
The stench of rot came as no surprise to Astraia Solenne after five years spent in the back alleys and slums of Tenebris. It clung to the very city walls like a second skin. She choked back bile as the odor flooded her senses, dense and wet in the humid air.
Her boots echoed on the uneven stones, each step drawing her deeper into the slums’ underbelly.
The buildings leaned together like conspirators, their cracked stone facades weeping with moisture, shadowed windows dark and silent.
Between them, scraps of cloth fluttered from broken frames—attempts at privacy where none could truly be found.
These were not homes but holding pens for the dying. The thought made Astraia shudder.
Striding past several dilapidated merchant stalls and boarded shops, she gritted her teeth, fists clenched by her sides until her nails bit into her skin.
Once a heart of trade and commerce, Tenebris had spiraled into chaos with the emergence of the Plague four years ago.
When the regent King Maelrik took the black throne of the Celestial Court, he had disregarded the city and its people as expendable chaff in the wind, letting nature take its damning course.
“Dominion take you,” she cursed under her breath.
Disease swept through the slums faster than the sun could rise.
Poverty and crime soon followed, transforming the bustling city into a cesspool of debauchery and black-market deals.
Astraia did what she could, but it was a drop of light in a sea of shadows.
Physical healing could not mend the broken spirit of the city.
A child’s cough echoed ahead, sharp and brittle, and the bond stirred at her spine.
No. Not now.
She took several deep breaths, willing the flare to subside. The bond had grown restless these past weeks, more unpredictable with every pulse. It burned colder than it once had, but the flames were no less fierce.
Her eyes swept the alley ahead. The morning was quiet, save for the buzzing of flies and the distant clatter of carts in the market district beyond these walls. She cursed as her foot landed in a pool of something foul. Rain, maybe. Blood, more likely.
Several heads peeked out of covered doorways as she passed.
Some of the older women placed a hand on their heart, then raised it skyward, thanking the silent Stars.
The people of the slums knew her face, or at least her shadow.
The girl in the navy cloak who came when the red marks appeared and chased away death.
Astraia nodded at the sign of respect toward her but internally scoffed at their ill-placed faith.
She did not come for thanks. Astraia called Tenebris home, and she had no intention of abandoning the helpless.
She came because no one else would and no one else cared to try. Especially not the Stars.
Lost in thought, she nearly passed the door. A rotting tarp, painted over with a bold red “X”, hung limply from the frame. The mark of death. No one would come here. No one but her.
Astraia was the only one at this end of the alley, but eyes watched her from other doorways—silent, hollowed faces. She adjusted her navy cloak tighter around her dark hair and took a deep breath before pulling the tarp aside.
Inside, the air was thick with death.
Astraia stepped into the dark, the tarp falling closed behind her. Sweet, cloying rot clung to her tongue, instantly drying her mouth. Instinct had her hand hovering near the dagger at her thigh, though she knew it would not be needed. Not for what waited here.
The room was small, no more than four paces wide. Shadows crouched in every corner, and the only sound was labored breathing. Someone still alive. Barely.
Her boots crunched on the dirt floor as she advanced
A shape stirred in the far corner.
“Who’s there?” Astraia called, her voice low, steady.
A small figure straightened from the shadows. A child.
“Please…please help me.” The voice was fragile, raw.
Astraia’s jaw clenched. She turned around, tugging the tarp aside just enough to let in a sliver of light. What she saw made her breath catch.
Two bodies lay on a cot against the wall—gray, still, and long past saving.
Flies circled lazily, undisturbed. And in the corner, barely standing, was a girl no older than six, skin stretched thin over bone, eyes hollow with hunger and grief.
The red marks of Plague bloomed across her face and arms, cruel and dark.
Slowly, the girl raised her head to meet Astraia’s eyes. Tears streaked through the dirt on her cheeks as she spoke.
“Please. Please help me,” she pleaded once more, panic in her eyes.
Astraia, staring back at the little girl, nodded, and motioned for her to come toward her. The girl hesitated, but stepped forward, her feet bare.
Astraia found a piece of rope on a small table and tied the tattered tarp back to allow some semblance of light into the room. When she turned back around, the girl was trembling, her head bowed.
“I—I don’t want to make you sick. I made my mama and papa sick, and now they’re gone,” the girl sobbed between breaths. “It’s all my fault they’re gone.”
Astraia knelt on the ground before her and gently tipped the child’s chin up to meet her gaze. “I am not afraid,” she reassured the girl, tucking a small strand of her hair behind her ear.
The girl’s eyes widened at her touch, no doubt worried the simple graze would transmit the deadly disease. But she was not concerned about death. He was her constant companion, pursuing her to no avail—her Sacrifice bond made sure his claws never sunk in too deep.
Astraia’s eyes softened as she gazed into the girl’s green eyes. Another set of emerald-green eyes flickered through her mind, and a sad smile curved her lips. She shook the memory away and spoke softly.
“It is not your fault. Now, I can help you—but you must promise me one thing first.”
The girl blinked through her tears and nodded.
Astraia locked eyes with her. “You must not speak to anyone about what you are about to see. Not one soul. If anyone asks about your parents, you tell them they died—and you fled before the Red Death reached you. Understand?”
Again, the girl nodded slowly.
“Good. Now, close your eyes.”
The child obeyed, squeezing her eyelids shut tightly.
Astraia flexed her fingers and took a slow, deep breath, doing her best to ignore the reek of rot in the air. She reached inward. It didn’t take long, seconds maybe, before she felt it – a tingling at the base of her neck, spreading warmth down her spine and through her limbs.
Astraia closed her eyes and let the warmth consume her. She saw her favorite memory flicker to life in her mind, blurring the dank room around her.
She was sitting with Elion on the small hill overlooking the beach, staring at the Aetherdeep Sea as its waves lapped on the sand. The sea breeze blew through her hair and the sun warmed her pale skin.
“You are impossible,” she snapped, elbowing his muscular arm.
“Life would be incredibly boring for you if I was not.” He smiled, laughing as he dodged another elbow jab.
The hillside grew brighter until the light overtook the flashback, dissolving the image and searing it into the back of her eyes.
Anchoring herself to the memory, she let the warmth build in her fingertips until she could sense the light before she saw it.
When she opened her eyes, her hands glowed a soft blue—her Sacrifice bond.
It cut through the darkness of the room with ease, erasing the shadows in an instant.
The light was as familiar as breathing, and still, it amazed her every time.
Heat gained momentum in her body, threatening to overtake her, but she tugged on that blissful memory that anchored her—the thin thread that prevented her from a full flare and burnout.
The glow steadied to an even pulse from her palms as she placed her hands gently on either side of the child’s face.
The girl flinched at first, squeezing her eyes tighter, but relaxed as Astraia’s warm hands remained. Astraia coaxed the bond forward, her blessing and curse from Sacrifice—the Star of healing.
The fear melted from the girl’s face, and the dark circles under her eyes dissipated in seconds.
Red marks of the plague faded as well, leaving behind not even a scar of what once afflicted her skin.
Her bones filled out, skin flushed with health, lips tinged pink.
Even the girl’s hair gained shine and luster in the few seconds Astraia’s hands made contact with her skin.
Astraia pulled her hands away, tightening the inner tether.
She placed the memory inside the box she kept only for him and pushed it down into the safe haven of her inner thoughts, separated from the whispers that fueled her nightmares.
That even with her Starborne ability, she was still not enough—that she could not save the one person in the world who mattered.
As soon as the lid closed on the box and his smile faded, the light vanished. The room was plunged once again into darkness, except for the fragment of sunlight from the doorway.
Astraia pulled her hands away and rose to her feet.
“You may open your eyes now,” she whispered gently.
The girl’s lashes fluttered open. She looked at her arms, her legs, her feet. “I feel so much better. I’m warm. And the red spots…” She glanced down, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear. “They’re all gone!”
“Yes. You’re healed. But remember what I said—you must never speak of this. Ever. Do you understand?” Astraia’s voice was firm, echoing in the enclosed space.
The girl nodded fervently. “Yes. I understand.”
“Good. Now come with me. You mustn’t stay here. I’ll see to it your parents are honored—but this will no longer be your home.”
Astraia extended her hand and turned her back to the room.
The little girl gave her parents one final glance. No more tears fell from her eyes. She simply turned her face toward the doorway, then took Astraia’s hand, and together, they walked out of the hellscape.