A thousand years had passed since the fall of Yun Zhen, the God of Astral. The celestial realm had changed, and so had the mortal world. The once-mighty kingdoms of men had risen and fallen, their empires crumbled into dust, their deeds forgotten in the annals of history. The gods who had betrayed Yun Zhen were long gone, their names whispered only in the darkest corners of ancient temples. But in the mortal realm, life continued, and the Academy of Magic and Sword stood as a beacon of power and knowledge.
It was at this academy that Asterius lived a life of misery.
The Academy was a grand institution, a place where the most talented and ambitious youths of the world came to hone their skills in the arcane arts and the martial disciplines. Its towers rose high above the surrounding landscape, casting long shadows over the forests and fields that stretched for miles. The Academy was a place of learning, but it was also a place of competition, where the strong thrived and the weak were crushed.
Asterius was one of the weak.
He was small and frail, his body too thin and his frame too delicate for the rigors of the Academy. His hair was a dull brown, his skin pale from too many days spent indoors, and his eyes—once bright with the dreams of youth—were now clouded with despair. Asterius had always been different from the other students, lacking the natural talent and strength that came so easily to his peers. Where others excelled, he struggled; where others found camaraderie, he found only isolation.
For as long as he could remember, Asterius had been the target of relentless bullying. The other students saw him as an easy target, someone they could torment without fear of reprisal. He was too weak to fight back, too timid to stand up for himself, and too isolated to seek help. The faculty, if they noticed his suffering at all, turned a blind eye, dismissing him as a failure who would never amount to anything.
The days blended into one another, a monotonous cycle of torment and despair. Asterius would wake each morning with a heavy heart, knowing that the day ahead would bring only more pain. He would go through the motions, attending his classes, practicing his spells, and sparring with his peers, but his heart was no longer in it. His dreams of becoming a great warrior, a master of magic and sword, had long since withered and died, crushed beneath the weight of his own inadequacies and the cruelty of those around him.
He had become a shadow, a ghost in the halls of the Academy, unseen and unnoticed by all but his tormentors. They mocked him, ridiculed him, beat him down at every opportunity, and he had no strength left to resist. He had once believed that he could prove them wrong, that he could rise above their cruelty and become something more. But now, that hope was gone. He was tired—tired of the pain, tired of the fear, tired of the endless cycle of suffering that had become his life.
It was on a cold, gray morning, with the sky overcast and the air thick with the scent of impending rain, that Asterius made his decision. He could no longer endure the torment. He could no longer bear the weight of his own existence. He had to escape, and there was only one way he could think of to do that.
The cliff at the edge of the Academy grounds was a place that the students rarely ventured. It was a desolate spot, where the land dropped off sharply into a deep, dark chasm. The wind howled through the rocky crags, and the ground was treacherous, prone to crumbling beneath one's feet. It was a place of danger, a place where one could easily lose their footing and fall into the abyss below.
It was the perfect place to end it all.
Asterius made his way there slowly, his footsteps heavy and his heart pounding in his chest. The wind whipped through his hair, carrying with it the scent of earth and the distant sound of thunder. The sky above was a deep gray, the clouds thick and foreboding, and the air was cold enough to bite at his skin. He reached the edge of the cliff and looked down into the abyss, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of the sheer drop.
It was so far down. The darkness below seemed to stretch on forever, an endless void that would swallow him whole. But that was what he wanted, wasn't it? To disappear, to be forgotten, to finally be free of the pain that had plagued him for so long.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he edged closer to the precipice. The wind howled around him, tugging at his clothes, and the ground beneath his feet crumbled, sending small rocks tumbling into the abyss. He closed his eyes, feeling the tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and took another step forward.
But just as he was about to fall, a voice called out to him—a voice that was both familiar and alien, a voice that resonated deep within his soul.
"Asterius..."
He gasped, his eyes flying open as he stumbled back from the edge. The voice was not his own, nor was it the voice of any of his tormentors. It was a voice that seemed to come from the very depths of the universe, a voice that carried with it the weight of ages.
"Asterius," the voice repeated, softer this time, almost gentle. "Do not be afraid."
"Who... who are you?" Asterius whispered, his voice trembling with fear and confusion. He looked around, but there was no one there. The cliff was empty, the wind howling around him like a mournful wail.
"I am... the one who has watched over you," the voice replied, and in those words, Asterius felt a strange sense of comfort, as if the voice were a long-lost friend. "I am the one who understands your pain, who knows the depths of your suffering. You are not alone, Asterius."
Tears spilled down Asterius's cheeks as the voice spoke, the words piercing through the wall of despair that had surrounded his heart for so long. "But... why? Why are you here? Why now?"
"Because," the voice said, its tone growing stronger, more resolute, "you are the last. The last to remember, the last to believe. In you, Asterius, I see myself. I see the pain, the betrayal, the loneliness. And in you, I see hope."
"Hope?" Asterius echoed, his voice breaking. "I have no hope. I'm nothing... I'm weak... I can't..."
"You are stronger than you know," the voice interrupted, a note of firmness in its tone. "You have endured what others could not. You have survived. And now, you must choose. You can let go, let the darkness take you... or you can rise. Rise and reclaim your destiny."
Asterius was silent, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The voice... it was offering him a choice. A chance to escape the torment, but not through death. A chance to become something more, something greater.
"But... how?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "How can I rise? I'm nothing... I'm just..."
"Let me show you," the voice said, and Asterius felt a warmth spread through his chest, a sensation that was both comforting and powerful. "Let me guide you. Let me show you the power that lies within you."
Asterius felt something stir within him, a spark of something ancient and powerful that had lain dormant for so long. It was as if the voice had reached deep into his soul and touched something primal, something that had been buried beneath years of pain and suffering. He felt the warmth spread through his body, filling him with a strength that he had never known before.
"What... what is this?" he whispered, his voice trembling with awe.
"It is your power," the voice replied, its tone gentle but firm. "The power that has always been within you, waiting for the right moment to awaken. You are not weak, Asterius. You are not nothing. You are the last of the believers, the last to remember the name of the God of Astral."
Asterius's breath caught in his throat at the mention of the name. The God of Astral... it was a name he had heard only in whispers, in the old stories and legends that had been passed down through the generations. The God of Astral was a myth, a forgotten deity who had once wielded the power of the stars themselves. But that was all it was—a myth, a story to be told to children before they went to sleep.
"But... the God of Astral... he's not real," Asterius said, his voice trembling. "He's just a story..."
The voice chuckled softly, a sound that was both comforting and unsettling. "I assure you, Asterius, I am very real. I was once a god, worshipped by many, feared by more. But I was betrayed, cast out by those who feared my power. I was forgotten, my name erased from history. But you... you are the last to remember, the last to believe."
Asterius's mind raced as he tried to process what the voice was telling him. Could it be true? Could the voice really be the God of Astral, the forgotten deity of legend? And if it was, why had it chosen him? Why now?
"What... what do you want from me?" Asterius asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I want to help you," the voice replied, its tone sincere. "I want to give you the strength to rise above your tormentors, to reclaim the power that is rightfully yours. But more than that, I want you to help me. I want you to help me reclaim my place among the gods."
Asterius felt a chill run down his spine at the words. Help a god reclaim his place? The very thought was terrifying, and yet... there was something about the voice, something about the warmth that filled his chest, that made him want to believe. He had been alone for so long, suffering in silence, and now, for the first time, someone was offering him a way out.
But it wasn't just a way out. It was a chance to become something more, something greater.
"What... what do I have to do?" Asterius asked, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and hope.
"First, you must accept me," the voice said, its tone gentle but firm. "You must open your heart and allow me to merge with you. Together, we will become one, and our power will be unmatched."
Asterius hesitated, fear gripping his heart. Merge with a god? The very idea was terrifying, and yet... there was something in the voice, something in the warmth that filled his chest, that made him want to trust it.
"I... I don't know if I can..." Asterius whispered, his voice trembling.
"You can," the voice replied, its tone reassuring. "You are stronger than you know, Asterius. You have endured so much, and yet you are still here. That is a testament to your strength, to your will. Together, we can overcome anything."
Asterius took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. The voice was right—he had endured so much, and yet he was still here. He had survived, even when everything seemed hopeless. And now, he was being offered a chance to become something more, something greater. Could he really turn it down?
"I... I accept," Asterius said, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and determination. "I accept you."
As soon as the words left his lips, Asterius felt a surge of power unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was as if a dam had been broken inside him, releasing a flood of energy that coursed through his veins, filling him with strength and power. The warmth in his chest intensified, spreading throughout his body, and he felt his very soul being enveloped by the presence of the God of Astral.
"Good," the voice said, its tone filled with satisfaction. "Very good. Now, Asterius, we are one. Our power is united, and together, we will rise."
Asterius felt the power surging within him, his body trembling with the force of it. He could feel the presence of the God of Astral merging with his own, their souls intertwining, becoming one. It was a strange sensation, both exhilarating and terrifying, but there was no going back now.
"Now," the voice said, its tone filled with determination, "let us begin."