The Starspire Chapel loomed before them, its pale stone façade shimmering faintly in the sunlight as if kissed by divine hands. Rising above Mar’Vareen like a guardian, the spire reached toward the heavens, its apex crowned with the symbol of the Celestial Court—a sun and moon entwined, their opposing shapes balanced in harmony. The wide entry doors, carved from dark mahogany and inlaid with celestial symbols, were flanked by robed priests who carried staves topped with softly glowing crystals. The faint hum of magic hung in the air, a quiet reminder of the sacred rituals performed within these walls.
Inside, the chapel was even grander. Rows of polished pews stretched toward an altar carved from alabaster and gold, its surface etched with the intricate patterns of the constellations. Stained-glass windows cast vibrant hues across the chamber, depicting the sun and moon in their eternal dance, surrounded by the stars that formed the Celestial Court’s domain. Citizens prayed quietly along the sides, heads bowed in reverence, while the soft murmur of priests filled the air, their voices a soothing melody that seemed to harmonize with the magic of the place.
Charles stepped into the chapel, his arm loosely supported by Ardella’s firm grip. Though he appeared calmer than he had in the carriage, the tension in his shoulders betrayed his unease. Ardella kept her amber gaze steady, her presence a silent shield against the weight of expectation.
Near the front of the chapel, Adrian and Celeste Marcellus awaited him. They stood apart, their postures a study in contrasts.
Adrian Marcellus, Viscount of the house, was a man who wore his charm like a second skin. His neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair framed a face marked by piercing blue eyes and a roguish smile that could disarm even the most guarded trader. Dressed in a tailored dark green doublet adorned with silver embroidery and a falcon-shaped brooch, he exuded effortless elegance. Yet beneath his polished exterior lay a man constantly maneuvering through the intricate web of Mar’Vareen’s politics and intrigues.
Celeste Marcellus, on the other hand, was the epitome of noble grace. Her jet-black hair, streaked with silver, was swept into an intricate braid that crowned her head like a tiara. She wore a deep green gown with silver accents, the fabric clinging just enough to suggest strength beneath the elegance. Her sharp green eyes missed nothing, and her posture was as unyielding as the marble pillars of the chapel. Though her demeanor was serene, the faint tightening of her lips betrayed her worry.
“Charles,” Adrian called, his voice warm but tinged with concern. “There you are, son. You had us worried.”
“It’s fine,” Celeste added, her tone softer than usual as she stepped forward. Her hand brushed against Charles’s shoulder, an almost imperceptible gesture of comfort. “You don’t have to feel pressured. If the ceremony doesn’t go the way you hope… that’s all right.”
Charles forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks, Mother. Father.”
Ardella cleared her throat, drawing the family’s attention. “The ceremony is simple,” she began, her voice firm and steady. “You will stand at the altar. The priest will invoke the Celestial Court and place his hand upon your forehead, channeling a small amount of divine magic. It will resonate with your essence and reveal if you possess magical potential.”
“What kind of resonance?” Adrian asked, folding his arms, his brow furrowing.
“There are varying responses,” Ardella explained, her gaze turning to Charles. “The faintest response—an aura flicker—indicates basic magical ability. Most nobles with any talent fall into this category. But there are rarer responses, far more powerful and unpredictable. A surge of light, a shifting of the room’s shadows, even the manifestation of celestial symbols—these are signs of potent magic, the kind that can shape the future of a family or a kingdom.”
Celeste frowned, her sharp tone cutting through Ardella’s words. “Enough. Don’t fill his head with fantasies. The likelihood of such a response is negligible.”
Ardella met Celeste’s gaze with unflinching resolve. “Negligible doesn’t mean impossible, my lady.” She turned back to Charles, her expression softening. “You’ve heard my warnings, Charles. Now hear this: no matter what happens, I will be here. My magic is strong, and my loyalty stronger still. You will be safe so long as I am by your side.”
Her words carried a quiet intensity, and she placed a steady hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. For a moment, Charles felt the faint pulse of her magic—a reassuring presence, like a shield wrapping around him.
Adrian placed a hand on Celeste’s arm, his touch calming her rising tension. “Ardella’s right. He’ll be safe. Let’s not worry him more than we already have.”
Charles looked between his parents, then back to Ardella. Her faith in him—and her promise to protect him—eased some of the weight pressing on his chest. For the first time that morning, he exhaled without feeling as though the world might collapse around him.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the lingering nerves.
Ardella gave him a small nod, her expression unreadable but her presence unwavering.
The priest called his name from the altar, and Charles felt the world around him narrow, all the grandeur of the Starspire fading into the background. The time had come. With one final look at his family, he stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest as he approached his fate.
---
The Starspire Chapel was hushed, the usual murmurs of prayer and the quiet shuffle of feet stilled by the weight of the moment. Charles stood at the altar, his hands clenched at his sides. The cool alabaster surface beneath his fingertips felt solid, grounding him against the storm of emotions raging within.
The priest, a middle-aged man in flowing white and gold robes, stepped forward. His face was serene, though his eyes carried the gravity of someone about to invoke powers far beyond mortal comprehension. Behind Charles, his parents and Ardella stood in tense silence. Adrian’s charm had dimmed, his hands resting on Celeste’s shoulders as if bracing her for the worst. Celeste’s sharp green eyes darted between her son and the priest, her mask of calm betrayed by the tightness in her lips. Ardella stood slightly apart, her amber eyes locked on Charles, a silent pillar of strength.
“Charles Marcellus,” the priest intoned, his voice deep and resonant, “you stand before the Celestial Court to offer your essence. Their judgment will reveal your place among the gifted—or affirm your path as one unmarked by magic. Are you ready to receive their will?”
Charles swallowed hard, his throat dry. His heart pounded so loudly he was certain the entire chapel could hear it. “I’m ready,” he said, his voice steadier than he expected.
The priest nodded and extended a hand toward Charles’s forehead. The tips of his fingers glowed faintly, a soft gold light pulsing like the rhythm of a heartbeat.
“May the Celestial Court guide us,” the priest said, his voice quieter now. He pressed his hand to Charles’s forehead, and the glow spread outward, bathing them both in gentle radiance.
At first, there was nothing but warmth—a soothing, almost lulling sensation that spread through Charles’s body. He exhaled, the tension in his chest easing.
Then the warmth surged.
A sudden, overwhelming force rippled through him, stealing his breath. His knees buckled slightly, and his vision blurred as the glow around him intensified. The light was no longer soft and golden; it flared with an intensity that cast sharp, dancing shadows across the walls of the chapel. Gasps rose from the gathered priests and attendants.
The glow burst outward, and the air itself seemed to hum with power. Charles felt the weight of something immense pressing down on him, as if the very universe had turned its gaze upon him.
Above, a thunderous crack reverberated through the chapel, shaking the spire. Every head turned upward, and Charles stumbled back, breaking contact with the priest. The man staggered, his face pale with shock.
“What—” Celeste started, her voice sharp, but she fell silent as a beam of light shot through the stained-glass window, illuminating the center of the room.
“Look!” someone cried, pointing toward the sky.
Charles followed their gaze, his breath catching in his throat. Through the wide windows of the chapel, the Thrice-Broken Moon hung in the heavens, its fractured pieces glowing faintly. But something was different. The shards of the shattered celestial body, usually scattered and disjointed, had aligned. For the first time in living memory, the broken pieces formed a perfect circle, their jagged edges fitting together like the gears of a celestial clock.
Gasps turned to murmurs, and murmurs to a stunned silence as the moon glowed brighter, its light washing over the city below. The alignment lasted only a few heartbeats, but it felt like an eternity. Then, as quickly as it had come, the light dimmed, and the pieces of the moon drifted apart once more, resuming their eternal disarray.
The silence in the chapel was deafening. The priest knelt, his hands trembling, as he whispered, “The Fourth Age… a harbinger…”
Charles stood frozen, his heart pounding as he looked at the faces around him. His father’s shock was evident, his blue eyes wide and uncomprehending. Celeste’s hand was pressed to her mouth, her usual composure shattered. Ardella’s gaze was fixed on him, her amber eyes ablaze with something he couldn’t quite name—pride, fear, or perhaps both.
“What… what does it mean?” Charles managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
The priest rose shakily, his expression awestruck. “You are marked by the Celestial Court, chosen for a destiny beyond mortal comprehension.” His voice wavered as he added, “The Thrice-Broken Moon aligning… it has not happened in an age. You are no ordinary mage, Charles Marcellus. You are something… more.”
Charles staggered back, his mind reeling. His breath came in short, shallow bursts as the weight of the moment bore down on him. The room spun, and he felt Ardella’s strong hands catch him before he fell.
“It’s all right,” she murmured, her voice low and steady. She pulled him into a firm embrace, shielding him from the stares of the crowd. “You’re safe, Charles. I’m here.”
“But what am I?” he whispered, his voice cracking.
Ardella’s grip tightened, and she leaned down to murmur in his ear, her tone fierce. “You are stronger than you know. Whatever this means, whatever comes next, you are not alone. I will protect you.”
Her words steadied him, but the weight of what had just happened settled heavily in his chest. The Fourth Age… destiny… a harbinger. The words swirled in his mind, but none of them made sense.
---
Alessia Marcellus sat at the edge of the grand reception hall, a gilded goblet of wine held loosely in her hand. For once, she wasn’t at the center of attention. That didn’t mean she was being ignored—far from it. The eyes of Mar’Vareen’s nobility flitted to her every few moments, their curiosity and unease palpable. Whispers buzzed like gnats, and Alessia had never felt so nervous.
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“Did you see it? The moon aligning? It must mean he’s been touched by the Celestial Court. A chosen one!”
“Nonsense. If the Court blessed anyone, they wouldn’t pick a boy from House Marcellus. This is something darker.”
“They say the alignment hasn’t happened in centuries. The last time… wasn’t it before the fall of Kael’Anor?”
“Ardella Vaelcroft must have known. She’s always been too close to that family. Mark my words, this will upset the balance between the nobles and the mages.”
“I heard the boy didn’t even celebrate the ceremony. What kind of harbinger is reluctant?”
“Reluctant or not, the stars don’t lie. The end of the Third Age is near, and he’ll be at the center of it.”
As the only member of the house at the reception, all the whispers naturally drew the eyes of everyone to her. Normally, she would have relished the attention. She thrived in Mar’Vareen’s social circles, her charm and wit as much a weapon as her brother Cassian’s diplomacy. She was the picture of noble poise, her long black hair cascading in perfect waves over her shoulders, her emerald gown tailored to accentuate her lithe figure. Sharp green eyes, as piercing as her mother’s, missed nothing—normally. Tonight, however, they darted restlessly, betraying the unease roiling beneath her composed exterior.
“Alessia,” a voice broke through the din. Lady Corinthe Veylan, a rival and frequent “ally,” sidled up beside her. The woman’s jeweled fingers glittered as she waved them dismissively at the crowd, signaling for privacy. “What a… spectacle today, wasn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it.”
Alessia forced a smile, tilting her head just enough to maintain decorum. “Spectacle is a strong word, Lady Corinthe. It was a ceremony.”
“Come now,” Corinthe said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “The Thrice-Broken Moon aligning? That was no mere ceremony. Tell me, what does it mean? Surely you know.”
Alessia’s fingers tightened imperceptibly around the goblet. “If the Celestial Court had revealed its secrets to me, I would have shared them by now,” she said lightly. “Perhaps you should consult the priests instead. I hear they’ve taken a particular interest in the event.”
Corinthe laughed, a sound that grated on Alessia’s nerves. “Ah, but the priests are so… opaque, aren’t they? But you, darling, you’re Charles’s sister. You must have some idea what he’s become.”
What he’s become.
The words settled like stones in Alessia’s stomach. She didn’t have an answer, and the uncertainty gnawed at her. Charles had always been the unpredictable one, the troublemaker, the wildcard of the family. She had dismissed him as a mere footnote in House Marcellus’s legacy. But now?
“Darling Alessia,” Corinthe purred, holding her goblet delicately as she took a seat beside her uninvited. “I must say, your family has truly outdone itself. First the Thrice-Broken Moon aligning, and now the entire city buzzing about your brother.”
Alessia’s jaw tightened, but she forced a smile. “A remarkable day, isn’t it? I’m sure your family is thrilled to be a part of it. Oh, wait…” She trailed off, feigning confusion. “Your invitation was just to observe, wasn’t it?”
Corinthe’s smile twitched, but she recovered quickly. “How charming,” she said, tilting her head. “But speaking of remarkable, I couldn’t help noticing something. Charles is still… unattached, isn’t he? A boy of such potential, yet no betrothal? Curious.”
Alessia’s smile froze, and a sharpness entered her gaze. “He’s not a boy, Lady Corinthe. He’s a man. And unlike some, he doesn’t need to dangle himself in front of every eligible noble in Mar’Vareen to prove his worth.”
Corinthe laughed softly, unfazed. “Oh, Alessia, there’s no need to be so defensive. I merely meant that someone with his… unique status might find it difficult to navigate the waters of noble courtship. After all, he’s quite the wildcard, isn’t he?”
Alessia set her goblet down with a deliberate click, leaning slightly forward. “Charles is more than capable of navigating anything thrown his way. And he certainly doesn’t need advice from anyone who thinks courtship is a matter of fluttering eyelashes and strategically placed rumors.”
Corinthe raised an eyebrow, her ruby lips curving into an amused smirk. “You’re quite protective of him, aren’t you? One might think you’ve always been fond of him. Perhaps too fond?”
The jab hit its mark, and Alessia’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Excuse me?”
“Well,” Corinthe continued airily, swirling her wine, “someone like Charles could use a girl like me, don’t you think? Strong, resourceful, ambitious. A proper partner for someone destined to… shake the heavens, as they say.”
Alessia’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “A girl like you?” she repeated, her voice dripping with venom. “If you so much as look at him with that conniving little grin of yours, I will personally see to it that you never attend another ball in this city again.”
Corinthe gasped in mock indignation, pressing a hand to her chest. “My, my. Such passion, Alessia. Perhaps you’re the one who’s fond of him. A sibling bond so fierce—how touching.”
Alessia stood abruptly, towering over Corinthe despite her smaller frame. “Fond of him? Yes, I am. He’s my brother. And if you think for one second that I’ll let some shallow, opportunistic, social-climbing viper sink her claws into him, you clearly don’t know me at all.”
Corinthe’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Alessia leaned down slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper.
“If you so much as breathe his name in your schemes, Lady Corinthe, I’ll bury you so deep in scandal that not even your mother’s jewels will dig you out. Are we clear?”
Corinthe blinked, her usual composure slipping just enough to satisfy Alessia. “Crystal,” she said after a moment, her voice a touch less confident.
“Good.” Alessia straightened, smoothing her gown with a calm that belied the heat still simmering beneath her surface. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have far more important matters to attend to than indulging your fantasies.”
She turned on her heel, leaving Corinthe sitting alone, her expression frozen somewhere between irritation and grudging respect.
As Alessia strode away, her lips curled into a small, satisfied smirk. No one—no one—would use her brother as a pawn. And if Charles was destined to shake the heavens, she would make damn sure no one got in his way.
---
The dim glow of the evening sun painted Charles’s room in shades of amber and gold, the colors of a fading day. He sat by the window, his back pressed against the cushioned bench, legs drawn up as he stared out at the city of Mar’Vareen. From this vantage point, the bustling streets and towering spires seemed almost serene, a stark contrast to the storm of thoughts raging in his mind.
A soft knock at the door broke through his thoughts. He turned his head, brow furrowing. “Come in,” he called, his voice heavier than he intended.
The door creaked open, and Seraphina Dorne, the family Cook, stepped inside, carrying a silver tray laden with his favorite meal: steaming roasted pheasant, golden-crusted bread, and a small bowl of spiced honey. The aroma wafted through the room, a comforting warmth that was almost enough to distract him from his worries.
“Thought you could use this,” she said, her tone soft but steady as she shut the door behind her with her foot.
Seraphina moved with a practiced grace, setting the tray down on the small table by the window. She was a striking figure, with long auburn hair tied back in a simple braid that fell over one shoulder. Loose strands framed her face, highlighting high cheekbones and warm hazel eyes that seemed to carry an unspoken understanding. Her olive-toned skin bore faint freckles that softened her otherwise sharp features, and her practical but well-fitted brown dress hinted at a strength beneath her composed exterior. A delicate silver chain hung around her neck, holding a small, unassuming charm that she absently touched whenever she thought no one was looking.
“Seraphina,” Charles said, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “I didn’t realize I summoned an angel.”
She raised an eyebrow, setting the tray down with deliberate care. “And here I thought you were the one causing miracles these days.”
He winced at the jab, though her teasing tone carried no malice. “Word spreads fast.”
“It always does.” She folded her arms, leaning against the edge of the table. “You know how this city loves a good story. And today, you gave them the best one in years.”
Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Just what I needed—to be the protagonist of a story I didn’t ask for.”
Seraphina tilted her head, studying him for a moment before pulling up a chair and sitting down across from him. “You’ve been up here brooding ever since we got back,” she said plainly. “That’s not like you.”
“Maybe I’m not sure who ‘me’ is anymore,” Charles muttered, leaning back against the window frame.
Seraphina smirked, though her eyes softened as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Well, that’s ridiculous,” she said. “I’ve known you since you were stealing pies from the kitchen and blaming Felix. You’ve always been Charles—too clever for your own good, annoyingly charming, and just reckless enough to make life interesting. Nothing about that’s changed.”
He chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “I think it has, Seraphina. The ceremony… the moon… all of it. I’m not just Charles anymore. I don’t even know what I am.”
Seraphina reached out, resting a hand on his knee. Her grip was firm but comforting. “You’re still you, Charles. No ceremony, no glowing moon, no divine proclamations can change that. You’re the same brother to Lyra, the same thorn in Alessia’s side, and the same man who once convinced Cassian to jump off a dock because you swore he could swim better drunk.”
Charles laughed, the sound lighter this time. “That’s a terrible example.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” she teased, her hazel eyes glinting.
He sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I guess I just… I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this. For what everyone thinks I’m supposed to be.”
“No one’s ever ready,” Seraphina said gently. “The best you can do is take it one step at a time. And if you stumble, you’ve got people to catch you. People like me.”
Her words settled over him like a blanket, warm and grounding. He looked at her, a genuine smile creeping onto his face. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”
She shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “It’s a gift. Now, eat before I have to tell Ardella you’re sulking and starving yourself. I hear she’s got a spell for that.”
Charles laughed again, the sound fuller this time, and reached for the tray. “I’d rather not find out.”
As he took his first bite of the meal, Seraphina leaned back and watched him, the faintest smile on her lips. She didn’t need to say anything more. Just being here, in the quiet of the room, was enough to remind him that he wasn’t alone.
“You know,” she began, leaning forward slightly, “you’re not as alone in this as you seem to think.”
Charles paused mid-chew, raising an eyebrow. “I’m aware,” he said, swallowing. “Everyone’s been reminding me. Ardella, Lyra, my parents…”
“Sure,” Seraphina said, a playful lilt in her voice. “But you’re not seeing the whole picture. They’re not just supporting you in words. Everyone’s doing something to have your back—even Alessia.”
Charles blinked, setting down his fork. “Alessia? Are we talking about the same sister? The one who would rather duel me with words than swords?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Seraphina smirked. “She might grumble, but tonight at the party? She tore Lady Corinthe to shreds for even thinking of using your name to advance her schemes. I wasn’t there, but I heard she told Corinthe if she so much as looked at you the wrong way, she’d bury her six feet under in scandal.”
Charles couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him. “That does sound like her.”
Seraphina continued, her tone steady. “And she’s not the only one. Cassian’s been meeting with Father’s advisors nonstop, running scenarios in case the political landscape shifts. He’s even been reading up on mage laws to make sure no one can exploit you.”
Charles frowned. “Cassian? Reading mage laws?”
“You heard me.” She laughed. “He may not have awakened magic himself, but he’s making sure you’ll be protected if anyone tries to pull something tricky.”
Charles picked at the bread on his plate, his expression thoughtful. “I didn’t know he was doing all that.”
“Of course you didn’t. Cassian doesn’t say much—he just does things. And Lyra? She’s been speaking to chapel priests, making sure they didn’t misinterpret anything about the moon’s alignment? I think she scared one of them.”
Charles smiled faintly. “Sounds like her.”
“And your parents…” Seraphina’s voice softened. “Your mother may not say it outright, but I’ve seen how much she worries. She’s already speaking with her allies to ensure no one undermines you. And your father? He’s been unusually quiet, but he’s been in talks with Ardella all evening about strengthening the house’s defenses. He may not always show it, but he believes in you, Charles. They all do.”
Charles let the words sink in, his gaze shifting back to the window. The moon hung fractured in the sky, its broken pieces once again scattered. For all the weight of his awakening, he hadn’t stopped to consider how much his family was doing to hold the pieces of this new reality together.
“Everyone’s got your back,” Seraphina said gently, reaching out to place her hand on his arm. “It’s not just on you to figure everything out. You’re not alone, Charles. You never have been.”
Charles let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing as he looked at her. “Thanks, Sera. I needed that.”
She grinned, leaning back in her chair. “You’re welcome. Now finish your meal before I start charging you for my motivational speeches.”