Prelude To The Starlight Chronicles
6,000 years ago – The Veiling Of The Chorus
The spires of Aurengarde shimmered against the endless night sky, their crystalline towers reflecting the glow of the stars. The Luminara, beings of starlight and wisdom, moved among the towers in graceful silence. Their forms, translucent and ethereal, radiated a gentle, pulsing light. High above, the Celestial Chorus sang—an eternal harmony that resonated through every stone, every crystal, every soul. It was not a sound, but a vibration, a melody that shaped the land itself, sustaining its beauty and balance.
But on this night, the harmony faltered.
At the apex of the central spire, the Stellar Conclave—the Luminara's highest council—stood gathered. Their leader, Elyndra Solveir, gazed into the Astral Veil, a rift in the sky that connected their realm to the cosmic beyond. The rift trembled, its edges fraying like fabric under strain. Beyond it, shadows writhed—formless, chaotic, and menacing. The darkness stirred, and faint echoes of discordant whispers seeped through.
Elyndra turned to the gathered Luminara, her voice like the chime of distant bells. “The balance is breaking. They have found us.”
Gasps rippled through the council. Even among the ancient and serene Luminara, fear was evident. For eons, they had woven the land’s magic, creating a sanctuary of harmony and beauty. But their work had drawn the attention of forces from beyond the stars—chaotic beings who sought to unravel creation itself.
“The Chorus sustains this realm,” said Orivane Starforge, a luminary known for his academic boldness. “If we withdraw, the harmony will collapse. The land will fall to ruin.” Orivane shook. The first, and last time the man would ever feel fear.
Elyndra shook her head. “If we remain, chaos will consume not just this realm, but all others tied to it. We must veil the Chorus, sever our direct connection, and leave the mortals to inherit what we have built.”
The murmurs of protest quieted as the Astral Veil trembled again, cracks of dark energy splitting the starlit rift. The Luminara had always known this moment might come. To create something so beautiful was to invite the envy of destruction. The choice was no longer theirs to debate.
Elyndra raised her hands, her form growing brighter as she channeled the Chorus directly. The melody intensified, echoing across Aurengarde as the Luminara joined her, their voices merging into a single, resonant note. The Luminara’s melody was always perfect, but tonight, each chord they wove cracked more than the next.
Across the kingdom, the mortals wouldn’t be able to hear the veiling. Who knew how long it would take; leaving this land for them to find was dangerous. But not as dangerous as what would come if they stayed.
The cracked harmony took form, peeling away at reality itself. Like a wound not ready to be healed.
The Veiling began.
Crystal spires pulsed with cascading waves of light, their glow reaching the heavens. The Chorus’s melody grew fainter, as if retreating into the stars. Mortals wept, feeling the loss even if they could not fully understand it. In the sky, the rift began to close, its edges knitting together under the weight of the Luminara’s magic. The celestial glow dimmed as each Luminara relinquished their physical form, dissolving into motes of starlight that ascended into the heavens.
Elyndra was the last to fade. Her gaze swept over the kingdom she and her kin had nurtured, now left in the hands of mortals. “May they remember,” she whispered. “And may they be strong.”
With her final words, she reached into the heart of the central spire, binding the remnants of the Chorus’s power into the land itself. The spires would endure as a beacon, their magic sustaining Aurelith until the mortals could learn to wield it themselves.
The Veiling completed, the rift sealed, and silence fell.
The world of Aurelith stood transformed. The harmony of the Celestial Chorus was gone, leaving only faint echoes in the stones and crystals. The Luminara had vanished, their forms absorbed into the stars. Yet their legacy endured—a land imbued with magic, glowing spires that defied time, and a promise that even in their absence, the light of the heavens would guide the worthy.
Far above, the Astral Veil shimmered faintly, its surface smooth once more. But in the endless void beyond, shadows waited, their discordant whispers growing louder with every passing age.
Prologue: Invasion
Arthur Swii loathed everything about his post as a guard.
The lounge of the Observatory was dreary and cold, a draft forever snaking its way through the cracks in the stone walls. The Celestine Peaks were majestic, yes, but living among them felt like a slow punishment. His bowl of mountain goat stew sat untouched on the table in front of him, the steam curling upward in lazy tendrils. The smell was earthy, slightly sour—a reminder of how much he despised the Peaks’ cuisine.
He leaned back in his chair, the worn wood creaking under his weight, and let his gaze wander across the room. The other guards were either asleep or staring blankly into space, their expressions reflecting the same monotony he felt. Outside, the howling wind battered against the Observatory walls, a constant reminder of their isolation.
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Arthur frowned. He had joined the guards for one reason only—to gain access to the Celestial Archives, the legendary repository of forbidden knowledge hidden deep within the Peaks. But the monks were insufferable, cloaking every rule and ritual in secrecy. To access even the most basic texts required years of service, dedication, and—most annoyingly—obedience.
“What kind of stardust nonsense is that?” he muttered to himself.
A flicker of movement caught his attention. Someone was approaching from the shadows at the edge of the lounge. Arthur straightened, his hand instinctively drifting toward the hilt of his dagger, until he recognized the lanky figure creeping toward him.
“Don’t try to be slick, Manus,” Arthur called without turning fully. “I see you.”
Manus grinned as he slid into the seat beside Arthur. His unkempt hair and perpetual smirk gave him the look of a man who lived for trouble. Manus always seemed irritatingly chipper, an odd trait for someone stuck in this frozen hell. But tonight, there was something different about him—a glint in his eye that Arthur didn’t trust.
“You’re looking particularly smug,” Arthur said warily.
Manus leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve got something you’ll want to see.”
He reached into his coat, his movements slow and deliberate, and produced a small object. It gleamed faintly in the low light—a key, shaped like a crest, its crystalline surface catching and refracting the light in mesmerizing patterns. The intricate carvings seemed almost alive, as if they were shifting under Arthur’s gaze.
Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. “Is that—”
“The Archive Key,” Manus finished, his grin widening.
Arthur stared, his mind racing. The Archive Key was the stuff of legend. Only the highest-ranking monks were permitted to wield it, and even they guarded it zealously. With it, the Celestial Archives would be theirs to explore—every forbidden text, every hidden truth, every scrap of ancient wisdom.
“Where did you get that?” Arthur hissed, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening.
Manus shrugged nonchalantly. “Snatched it from the garve during the last shift change. They didn’t even notice.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened. “You’re insane. If they catch us—”
“They won’t,” Manus interrupted, his tone casual but firm. “Think about it, Arthur. This is what we came here for. You don’t actually want to spend the rest of your life guarding a bunch of monks, do you? With what’s in that Archive, we could be more than guards. More than monks, even. Scholars. Leaders. Hell, kings.”
Arthur hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He thought of the endless nights patrolling the frozen cliffs, the monotony of his days, the cold creeping into his bones no matter how many layers he wore. This was the opportunity of a lifetime—a chance to escape this wretched place and achieve something real.
“When you put it like that...” He stood, his resolve hardening. “I’m in.”
Manus grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
The corridor leading to the Celestial Archives was a long, narrow passage carved into the heart of the mountain. The walls were rough stone, but veins of crystal ran through them, pulsing faintly with an inner light that seemed to breathe in time with their footsteps. The air was heavy, thick with a sense of ancient power.
Arthur felt it immediately—a weight pressing against his chest, making each breath slightly harder than the last. It wasn’t physical; it was something deeper, something... other.
“Do you feel that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Manus glanced back, smirking. “Cold feet already?”
Arthur ignored him, his eyes scanning the corridor. The crystals lining the walls seemed to glow brighter as they approached the massive doors at the end of the passage. The doors were unlike anything Arthur had ever seen—black stone etched with runes that shimmered like trapped starlight. They stood impossibly tall, reaching up to the vaulted ceiling of the corridor, and seemed to hum with a faint, almost imperceptible vibration.
Manus retrieved the key from his pocket, holding it up to the runes. As the key neared the door, the runes flared to life, their light cascading outward in intricate patterns. The humming grew louder, resonating in Arthur’s bones.
With a deep, resonant groan, the doors began to open.
Arthur stepped through the threshold, and the sight that greeted him stole the breath from his lungs.
The Celestial Archives were a cathedral of knowledge, a vast chamber carved into the heart of the mountain. Shelves of crystalline light spiraled upward into infinity, their surfaces glowing with a soft, ethereal radiance. Books floated gently above their places, tethered by streams of energy that pulsed like veins. The air shimmered, alive with motes of golden light that drifted lazily through the space.
The ceiling was a dome of polished obsidian, reflecting the chamber below like a dark mirror. Every sound—footsteps, breathing, even the faint rustle of the floating books—was amplified and distorted, creating an otherworldly symphony that sent shivers down Arthur’s spine.
“By the stars,” Arthur breathed. “This is... it’s...”
“Magnificent,” Manus finished, his voice filled with awe.
For a moment, they simply stood there, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the place. Then Manus clapped Arthur on the shoulder, his grin returning. “We split up. Grab as many books as you can. They won’t notice if a few go missing.”
Arthur nodded, his hesitation melting away in the face of the Archive’s allure.
Arthur wandered through the shelves, his eyes darting from one glowing tome to another. Each book seemed to call to him, their titles shifting and rearranging themselves as he passed. He stopped in front of a particularly large volume, its cover adorned with a golden sigil of seven crowns encircling a radiant sun.
The title shimmered into focus: The Era of Radiant Kings.
Arthur opened the book, and the pages came alive with images—battles fought in fields of fire, cities rising from the ashes of war, and the seven rulers whose unity brought an age of unparalleled prosperity. The illustrations were so vivid they seemed to move, the colors bleeding into one another like liquid light.
“Manus!” Arthur called, his voice echoing through the chamber. “You have to see this!”
Silence.
Arthur frowned, closing the book. “Manus?”
Still nothing.
A chill crept down his spine as the lights of the Archive began to flicker. The motes of golden light dimmed, and the air grew colder. Arthur’s heart raced as he stepped out into the main aisle.
“Manus?” he called again, his voice trembling.
Silence was all that remained. The archive was now pitch black, with some dim light left towards the back, where Manus was. With a gulp, Arthur traversed through the archive.
He passed bookshelf after bookshelf, each one serving as checkpoints for his dread. Once he passed the last shelf, he saw the unthinkable.
At the far end of the chamber, Manus’s body lay crumpled on the floor, his eyes wide and unseeing. A pool of blood spread beneath him, dark and viscous, staining the glowing floor. Bloodshot eyes, slowly fading away from reality.
Arthur froze, his breath catching in his throat. His mind screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to move.
A soft, wet sound broke the silence—a slithering, like something dragging itself across the floor.
Arthur turned slowly, his heart hammering in his chest.
Then something soft, passed through his stomach as if it was butter. He looked down, a green blade twisting and churning around the flaps of his belly. The warm blood turned cold around the blade, as his throat became dry and vision dizzy.
“Don’t worry Arthur…” A melodic voice said from behind, slender feminine fingers reaching over and caressing his cheek. A few tears sprung out of the boy's eyes, as he began to succumb to the blade.
“Don’t be afraid my child.” Said the voice, mellow and beautiful in the face of death.
The last thing he saw was the sight of his lifeless friend. The dim torches lighting the archive gave out slowly, leaving him to his hopeless thoughts and unparalleled fear.
“You will be reborn… For the sake of the Shadowborn.”