Chapter 1: The Fall of a King

Cedric stood alone in the throne room, the only sound his own ragged breath echoing off the stone walls. The flickering torchlight burned low in their sconces, illuminating the empty throne before him. The dim amber glow did little to push back the oppressive atmosphere.

He began to shuffle forward, his bandaged leg dragging behind him. With each step, a new wave of pain coursed through his body, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache in his chest. Cedric's hand drifted to the thick wrappings swathing his torso, feeling the ridges of the stitches underneath. The pain grounded him, keeping the horrific memories at bay for a few blessed moments.

But they always came rushing back, those final blood-soaked images from the battle at Falcon's Rest. The Starless hordes surging forward in an unstoppable tide of starlight and malice, the twisted forms of man and beasts consumed by an unending thirst for bloodshed. Cedric squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still hear the desperate screams, smell the coppery tang of spilled blood, see the light fading from King Alden's eyes as he breathed his last.

The king's final words plagued Cedric's mind, drowning out all other thoughts. "You must...protect them..." Alden had rasped, blood bubbling on his lips. "Selnia...needs you..."

Cedric's knees buckled and he caught himself on a pillar, his head bowing under the crushing weight of it all. How could he protect a realm on the brink of being swallowed by darkness? He was a broken shell of a man, barely able to protect himself.

"I'm not strong enough," Cedric whispered, his voice cracking. "I failed you..."

The shadows seemed to close in around him and Cedric shuddered, feeling the specter of the Starless pressing against the edges of his mind. He could almost hear their sinister whispers, feel their icy talons raking down his spine.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Cedric pushed himself upright and limped the last few steps to the throne. He placed a trembling hand on the gilded armrest, imagining he could still feel some of Alden's strength and wisdom emanating from the cold metal.

"Alden, how do I do this without you?" he asked, his voice echoing hollowly off the vaulted ceiling. "How am I expected to lead when all I see is death?"

He waited with baited breath, as if expecting a familiar voice that never came. But the darkness held no answers, only the remembered horrors of the battle playing out endlessly behind Cedric's eyes. He sank down onto the top step below the throne and dropped his head into his hands. There, he allowed himself, for a fleeting moment, to feel the crushing sorrow he'd held at bay. There, alone in the dimness with only the ghosts of the fallen for company, the tears finally came, quiet and bitter.

But the throne room offered no solace, only the suffocating stillness of an empty kingdom teetering on the edge of chaos. The cold stone beneath him seemed to pulse with the unyielding truth: there was no time for weakness.

A low creak shattered the silence, reverberating off the high walls like a thunderclap. Cedric's head snapped up, his heart pounding against his ribs as his teary eyes darted to the source of the sound. The heavy doors, carved with the sigils of Selnia's noble houses, slowly swung open, the sudden sound shattering the oppressive stillness like a thunderclap.

He hastily swiped at his face with the back of his hand, a quick attempt to erase the evidence of his vulnerability.

The nobles had arrived.

Before he could be spotted sitting, Cedric pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the stabbing pain in his wounded leg. He couldn't afford to show weakness, not now, not in front of these circling vultures who would tear him apart at the first sign of frailty.

They filtered into the throne room with the measured grace of predators stalking their prey, each movement calculated and deliberate. They took their places in the wooden pews flanking either side of the hall, arranged in rows that rose in tiers. The air bristled with an undercurrent of tension as the lords and ladies settled in, the rustle of their fine silks sounding deafening in the stillness

Some he recognized from his time at Alden’s side. Like Lord Valron, a portly older man who was seated in the front row to Cedric’s right. His doublet was a garish shade of emerald green, trimmed with gold embroidery that strained at the seams of his generous frame. His fingers, heavy with jeweled rings, tapped idly against the armrest of his seat as his thin lips curled into an oily smile. His pale blue eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked over Cedric like a merchant appraising defective goods.

To Valron’s left sat Lady Maris of Whitecliff, a tall and slender woman draped in a gown of shimmering silver fabric that caught the torchlight. Her features were severe, her dark eyes framed by sharp cheekbones and lips that never quite seemed to soften. Her hands rested neatly in her lap, but her gaze was piercing, scrutinizing Cedric with an intensity that felt almost carnivorous.

Further back, Lord Harrick of Stormhaven leaned forward on the edge of his pew, his brooding presence impossible to ignore. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back, and his dark leather armor bore the scars of old battles. Unlike the others, Harrick wore no finery; his practical attire marked him as a man who spoke with his sword more often than with words. His frown deepened as his keen gray eyes lingered on Cedric, his skepticism etched into every line of his weathered face.

The rest of the nobles filled the pews with muted murmurs and shifty glances. Some were richly dressed, their clothing adorned with family crests and symbols of their houses, while others wore simpler garb, their loyalties and ambitions harder to discern. A few exchanged hushed whispers, their expressions varying between contempt and mild curiosity.

Cedric could feel their eyes on him, pricking at his skin like needles. His breath steadied as he forced himself to meet their gazes, one by one. These were the people he would have to win over—those who would either uphold his claim or undermine him entirely.

"Lords and ladies," Cedric greeted them, his voice rough but steady. "I apologize for the delay. I was... reflecting on recent events."

The words felt inadequate, but he would not let them see the cracks beneath his armor.

A ripple of reaction passed through the crowd. Some nobles nodded politely, their faces masks of false sympathy, while others exchanged pointed looks. He could practically hear their unspoken thoughts. A knight, newly Starbonded, presuming to stand among them?

They saw him as a pawn.

A placeholder.

Temporary.

Unworthy.

Lord Valron’s oily voice cut through the silence. "Cedric," he began, his tone dripping with condescension, "we understand this must be a difficult time for you. Perhaps it would be best if you…retired to your chambers to rest. We can handle the affairs of state in your absence."

A soft murmur of agreement spread through some of the pews, though others remained silent, their expressions unreadable.

Cedric’s jaw tightened, his grief eclipsed by a flash of anger. How dare they dismiss him so easily, as if he were a child to be sent off while the real decisions were made? Swallowing the fury, he let it smolder beneath the surface as he straightened his posture and met Valron’s gaze directly.

“Your concern is appreciated, Lord Valron,” Cedric said, his tone measured but firm, “but I am quite capable of managing.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air before continuing, “The realm needs stability now more than ever, and I intend to ensure it has just that.”

Valron’s smile faltered, his fingers pausing in their rhythmic tapping. “Stability, yes,” he said, his voice taking on a saccharine edge. “But stability requires experience, does it not? Wisdom. A steady hand. Traits you… have yet to fully develop.”

The insult landed with subtle precision, and Cedric could feel the eyes of the other nobles shift back to him, weighing his reaction.

“Experience is gained through action, Lord Valron,” Cedric replied evenly. “Action, I'm afraid, you are sorely lacking. At Falcon’s Rest, I stood beside King Alden until his final breath. I fought to protect this realm when others might have fled.” His voice hardened. “I don’t plan to stop now.”

Valron’s pale blue eyes narrowed, his smile gone. “And yet,” he said slowly, leaning forward as if to drive his point home, “despite all that, the king is dead, and the throne is empty. Tell me, Sir Cedric, did you not become Starbonded to save him? Or did even that celestial power fail you?”

A hush fell over the room, the tension crackling like a storm about to break. Cedric’s fists clenched at his sides, his fingernails biting into his palms. He could feel the constellation markings on his back stir beneath his bandages, a faint, restless ripple that mirrored the anger rising within him.

Before Cedric could respond, a sharp voice cut through the thickening tension.

“Enough!”

Lady Maris of Whitecliff rose to her feet, her silver gown making her stand out like a blade amongst a room of parchment. Her dark eyes swept over the chamber, silencing the murmurs and halting Valron’s smug satisfaction.

“We are not here to assign blame,” she said coolly, her voice sharp and authoritative. “King Alden is gone, and no amount of finger-pointing will change that. What matters now is ensuring the realm does not descend into chaos. Or would you prefer to see Selnia torn apart by petty squabbles, Lord Valron?”

Valron’s face darkened, but he held his tongue, sinking back into his seat with a huff.

Cedric inclined his head toward Maris in silent gratitude, though her expression remained unreadable.

Lady Maris’s rebuke hung in the air like a blade poised over the assembly. The murmurs slowly resumed, soft at first, a ripple of unease that quickly grew into a tide of hushed whispers, and Cedric stood at the center of it all. For a moment, he thought the room might settle, but then the subject shifted, and the whispers turned darker.

“Starbonded,” someone muttered from the back rows, the word dripping with suspicion.

“A celestial bond is power beyond mortal reach,” another added in a sharp whisper. “But power without limits…”

“And closely aligned with the Starless,” a third voice hissed.

Cedric’s shoulders stiffened as the whispers spread. He caught fragments here and there, “dangerous,” “unpredictable,” “corruption”, until the room was abuzz with fear masked as caution.

Lord Harrick leaned forward, his gravelly voice cutting through the noise. “The boy carries the burden of a power none of us can claim to understand. Should we not question what this bond means for the realm? What it means for us?”

Cedric’s jaw tightened, and he turned his gaze toward Harrick, his voice steady but sharp. “You’ve fought beside me, Lord Harrick. You know my loyalty to this kingdom. Does my bond with the stars suddenly erase all I’ve done for Selnia?”

Harrick’s steely gray eyes narrowed. “Loyalty doesn’t erase risk, Sir Cedric. The Starbonded are few, and in the wrong hands, they’ve brought kingdoms to ruin.” His words were measured, but the unease in his voice was plain. “We know too little about this… gift.”

The murmurs grew louder, emboldened by Harrick’s words.

Valron seized the moment, his oily tone returning. “And that is precisely the point, isn’t it? This power, while… impressive, is untethered. Unstable. A celestial force bonded to a man is no different than a fire left unchecked, it may warm us for a time, but it is just as likely to consume us all.”

Cedric stepped forward, his voice cutting through the noise. “My bond means nothing!” The room fell silent, though the tension remained a living, breathing thing. His gaze swept across the nobles, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. “You speak of me as if I am some… other. Some threat to be contained.”

Maris’s dark eyes flicked toward him, her expression unreadable.

“I am no different than the knight who stood beside King Alden,” Cedric continued, his voice hardening. “The same knight who fought to protect this realm and all of you. The power I bear is not a curse, it is a responsibility. One I will shoulder for the good of Selnia. Do not let your fear blind you.”

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“Fear is not blindness, Sir Cedric,” Valron said smoothly, rising from his seat. His bulk shifted heavily as he adjusted his gaudy doublet. “Fear is wisdom. Prudence. You’re telling us you will wield this power for the good of Selnia, but how can we be certain? How can you be certain? The stars chose you, yes, but the stars are not infallible.”

A ripple of agreement spread through the room, and Cedric’s stomach tightened.

“I have never given you cause to doubt me,” Cedric replied, his voice low but firm.

“And yet doubt persists,” Valron shot back, his pale blue eyes glinting. “Perhaps not through fault of your own, but through the nature of the bond itself. The Starbonded are close to the celestial planes, yes, but they are also perilously close to the Starless. How long before that power… twists?”

The room stilled at the unspoken implication.

Cedric’s hands clenched at his sides. He could feel the heat of their distrust, their fear coiling around him like a vice. It pressed against his chest, suffocating and relentless. And then, at the edges of his awareness, he felt it: a stirring deep within him, a flicker of something ancient and restless.

Draco.

The constellation markings etched across his back rippled faintly, the sensation crawling beneath his skin. He closed his eyes briefly, willing it to subside, but the murmurs only grew louder as the nobles noticed the faint glow emanating from the edges of his collar.

“What is that?” someone whispered, alarm creeping into their voice.

“Is it alive?”

“It moves!”

The markings flared suddenly, bright and vivid, snaking across Cedric’s back in intricate patterns that seemed to shift and writhe beneath his wrappings. Gasps filled the room as the nobles recoiled, their fear now palpable.

Cedric gritted his teeth, fighting to maintain control over the surging energy within him. ‘Not now, Draco,’ he pleaded silently, ‘not here.’

But the constellation only grew stronger, its presence almost suffocating in its intensity. Cedric could feel it pushing against his mind, urging him to unleash its full power and show the nobles the true might of a Starbonded.

Cedric took a steadying breath, his voice low and firm as he addressed the room. "Forgive me, my lords and ladies," he managed, his voice strained, "but I must take my leave."

It was clear the sight of the living constellation had already sown its seeds of doubt. Whispers turned to frantic mutterings, and Cedric could feel the tension in the room rising to a crescendo.

Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode toward the throne room doors, his boots echoing against the stone floor.

The nobles parted before him like a sea, some relief evident on their faces as he passed. He caught Maris’s gaze as he reached the exit—her expression remained inscrutable, but her dark eyes gleamed with something that might have been curiosity.

As the heavy doors shut behind him, the noise of the nobles swelled again, muffled but relentless. Cedric exhaled slowly, his hands trembling as he pressed them against the cool stone of the corridor wall. Draco stirred once more, a faint, pulsing presence that seemed to hum with the same tension Cedric felt in his own chest.

The castle halls stretched endlessly before Cedric, and each step echoed like a drumbeat in his ears, but Cedric’s thoughts moved faster than his feet.

As he walked, he began to map out the battlefield of noble alliances with care, dissecting each face he could recall.

1. Valron. Venomous and opportunistic, would rally those hungry for their own slice of power.

2. Maris, though sharp and pragmatic, was a mystery. Her loyalty was still a question mark.

3. Harrick, blunt and hardened, might respect action over words, but he remained a skeptic.

Then there were the murmurs from the others, the whispers of doubt and fear that followed him like a shadow.

His enemies were clear, but potential allies? Fewer than he’d hoped. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his claim to the throne rested on the edge of a blade. Not one of steel, but of opinion. And opinions were far more dangerous.

He wandered the corridors without thinking, his mind lost in his own worries. He hadn’t meant to leave the council room. Not like that, but his legs carried him away, and somewhere in the quiet of the halls, the weight of his frustration seemed to melt from his shoulders.

It wasn’t until a faint, desperate sound reached him that he realized how far he’d gone. The cries, low and guttural, cut through the stillness. Cedric’s feet slowed without his command, his thoughts halted by the sound. For a moment, he stood still, listening, as if his body needed time to register where he was.

It took him a moment longer to realize that the infirmary was just up ahead. He hadn’t consciously aimed for it, hadn’t made the choice to come this way. And yet, there he was, his hand instinctively brushing the stone walls for support.

The cries grew clearer now, and something in the back of his mind told him that he should turn back. That he had no reason to go in. But his legs betrayed him, his steps pushing him forward as if guided by something beyond reason.

The infirmary came into view, its arched doorway framed by the soft light spilling from within. But it wasn’t the gentle glow of the room that made him stop; it was the sounds. The low, desperate screams that hung in the air like an omen.

As he stepped closer, the scene beyond the doorway hit him with the force of a fist to the gut.

Rows of cots stretched across the room, each one occupied by men and women writhing in agony. Their bodies twisted unnaturally as screams tore from their throats. Starlight, normally a thing of beauty, coursed through their veins like molten fire, illuminating their flesh with an unearthly glow. It spilled from their wounds, their eyes, their mouths. The power meant to save them was destroying them from within.

Cedric’s breath caught as his gaze fell on the unmoving bodies lining the far wall, laid out beneath tattered sheets. Their faces were frozen in masks of terror, their eyes wide and unseeing.

"Too many," he muttered under his breath. "Too many lost."

And then, from within him, Draco spoke.

"This is the price for war."

The words reverberated through Cedric’s mind, a deep and commanding tone that carried no hint of sympathy. The voice of the celestial presence that had fused with his very being, granting him power beyond imagination, and tethering him to something he still did not fully understand.

“You say that as if it’s acceptable,” Cedric murmured aloud, his voice low.

"It is fact," Draco replied, the rumble of his voice resonating through Cedric’s chest. "Mortals fight. Mortals die. The strong survive, and the weak fade. This is how it has always been."

Cedric’s hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms. “They’re not weak,” he said sharply. “They fought. They gave everything to protect this realm. They deserved better.”

"Deserve?" Draco’s laugh was dark, almost mocking. "Do you believe the Starless care who deserves what? They do not discriminate, and neither should you. Slaying the Starless requires strength, not sentiment. Look at them, Cedric. Look at the bodies. This is what strength demands."

Cedric’s jaw tightened as he turned his gaze back to the injured. A soldier thrashed violently on the cot nearest to him, his screams piercing the air. Cedric wanted to move, to help, to do something, anything, but he felt paralyzed.

"You pity them," Draco continued, his tone shifting to something colder, more clinical. "You fear this cost. But without me, they would all be dead. Without me, you would be dead. You knew what you were sacrificing when you took the Starbond."

“Did I?” Cedric muttered bitterly.

Draco’s presence flared within him, an almost tangible weight pressing against his soul. For a moment, Cedric felt not just his own emotions but Draco’s—a raw, ancient power tinged with frustration and disdain.

"You accepted me, boy. You called for me in your moment of weakness, and I answered. Do not pretend you didn't know the price. You wanted power, and I gave it to you. Now, you hesitate. Why?"

Cedric leaned against the doorway, his breathing uneven. “Because it doesn’t feel like it’s mine,” he admitted quietly. “This power, this... presence. It’s you, not me. You’re always there, in my thoughts, in my actions. How am I supposed to know where I end and you begin?”

Draco’s response was immediate, and for once, it wasn’t cold. There was an almost begrudging respect in his tone. "You are not meant to know. We are one now, Cedric. Your will drives my power, and my power fuels your will. This bond is not a burden, it is a gift. Without it, you would have crumbled beneath the weight of the Starless. You are alive because of me. And if you wish to protect your realm, you will need me again."

Cedric’s gaze fell to his hands, the faint glow of Draco’s celestial energy pulsing beneath his skin. It was true. Without Draco, he would have fallen. Without this power, Falcons Rest would be nothing but ash. But the cost... the constant presence, the shared thoughts, the blurred line between himself and this ancient, unknowable entity, it gnawed at him.

He pushed off the wall, his shoulders straightening. The screams in the infirmary grew louder, and Cedric felt his stomach twist.

"You cannot save them all," Draco said, almost gently. "But you can ensure they did not die in vain. Focus on what lies ahead, not what is already lost."

Cedric’s lips pressed into a thin line. He hated how logical Draco sounded, how easy he made it seem to dismiss the lives already claimed by this war. But there was truth in the celestial’s words.

“I’ll do what I must,” Cedric said finally, his voice quiet but resolute.

"Good," Draco rumbled. "Then let us prepare for what comes next. You have a throne to claim, and the realm will not wait for you to find your footing."

***

The chapel was quiet, save for the faint beams of sunlight that bathed the room. The high, arched windows were adorned with intricate stained glass, depicting scenes of valor and sacrifice, casting vibrant colors onto the polished stone floor. The walls were lined with tall, ornate columns that rose to meet the vaulted ceiling, creating a sense of grandeur and reverence.

At the center of the room, Alden’s body lay encased in a glass coffin, resting on a raised marble dais. His hands were folded over his chest, and his expression was serene despite the violence that had stolen his life. The soft light from the windows illuminated his face, giving it an almost divine quality, as if even in death, he radiated the authority and grace he had carried in life.

Cedric knelt before the coffin, his head bowed. He could feel the weight of his grief pressing down on him, raw and unrelenting.

He looked up, his gaze tracing the lines of Alden’s face. The man who had raised him, mentored him, and believed in him when no one else would. Alden had been more than a king. He had been a father in all but blood. And now, he was gone, taken by a war that Cedric was left to finish.

Draco’s voice stirred within him, low and quiet. “He was a good man. But good men often meet their end too soon.”

Cedric didn’t respond. He didn’t have the strength to argue, not now.

Would Alden have wanted this for him? Cedric’s hands curled into fists as the question clawed at his heart. Alden had always believed in honor, in duty, in sacrifice. But would he have condoned this? Would he have accepted Cedric’s choice to bind himself to something so ancient, so unknowable?

The answer would never come.

A knock broke the silence, its sharpness jolting Cedric back to the present. He straightened, hastily wiping at his eyes.

“Come in,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt.

The heavy wooden door creaked open, and Emrick entered, his dark skin rich like the earth. His face was drawn, exhaustion evident in every feature. His dark, tangled hair, matted from days of sweat and blood, framed his face with a wild, almost untamed air, yet his stance remained unwavering. A fresh bandage covered one eye, blood seeping through the cloth—a grim souvenir of Falcon’s Rest. Despite his injuries, Emrick carried himself with his usual confidence, though his limp betrayed the true toll the battle had taken on him.

“Cedric,” Emrick greeted, his voice low but steady. He paused, his gaze falling on Alden’s coffin. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“I thought I'd find you here.” Emrick said finally.

Cedric let out a bitter laugh. “Am I that predictable?” He asked, turning his attention back towards his late king. After a beat of silence, he spoke. “I can’t help but think he’d call me a fool for making a pact with something I barely understand.”

Emrick walked closer, his steps slow and deliberate. “Maybe. But he’d also call you brave. And you know it.”

Cedric shook his head. “Bravery isn’t enough. Look at what it’s cost us. Look at you.” His eyes flicked to the bandage over Emrick’s eye.

Emrick smirked faintly, though the expression didn’t reach his good eye. “You’ve seen me in worse shape. Besides, I’d rather lose an eye than lose you. Or this kingdom.”

Cedric sighed, rising to his feet. He turned to face his friend fully, studying him. Emrick had been with him since the beginning, through every battle, every loss. He was more than an advisor. He was family. And family was rare these days.

“I assume you didn’t come here just to check on me,” Cedric said, crossing his arms.

Emrick’s expression grew serious. “The Heartlands are fracturing. Alden’s death has shaken the nobles more than we thought it would. Alliances are crumbling, and there are whispers of rebellion. If we don’t act quickly, we’ll lose the Heartlands entirely.”

Cedric’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“And that’s not the worst of it,” Emrick continued, his voice grim. “The Starless are continuing to advance from the west. Scouts say their numbers are growing, and their attacks are becoming more relentless. It’s only a matter of time before they reach the Heartlands.”

For a moment, the room fell silent, the weight of Emrick’s words pressing down on them.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” Emrick said quietly, his voice softer now. “No one would blame you if you took a step back—”

“To what?” Cedric snapped, cutting him off. “To grieve? To rest? We don’t have that luxury, Emrick. Alden’s gone, and the Starless are closing in. If I stop, even for a second, everything he fought for will crumble.”

Emrick studied him, his frown deepening as he took in the cold resolve in Cedric’s eyes. “You can’t keep going like this. Not forever.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Cedric replied, his voice firm, though tinged with something darker.

Emrick took a step closer, his hand catching the front of Cedric’s tunic, a grip that was almost desperate. “Just... promise me you won’t lose yourself in all of this. You might be Starbonded, but you’re still human.”

Cedric held his friend’s gaze for a long moment, the weight of those words settling on him. Finally, he nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try.”

It wasn’t a promise, but it was the closest thing Emrick was going to get.

Cedric straightened up, shrugging off Emrick’s grip as he smoothed out his tunic. “We’ll handle the Heartlands first. If the nobles want to fight, they’ll have to go through me. And the Starless? I’ll find a way to stop them. Whatever it takes.”

Emrick’s expression didn’t soften, but he didn’t argue. He knew better than to try.

As Cedric moved past him, he paused, a hand resting briefly on Emrick’s uninjured shoulder. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I was never good with politics,” he said, his tone light but carrying the weight of what he was about to face. “But it’s about time I learned.”