The constellations in the night sky—their positions brimming with infinite mysteries—shift in strange and wondrous ways over time. For centuries, these celestial changes have been regarded as divine messages, cryptic riddles gifted to humanity. Astrologers have long been thought of as interpreters of these divine enigmas, delving into the puzzles left behind by higher powers.
But what if all of that is wrong?
The stars themselves hold unfathomable power, a force mightier than the fiercest tempests, the most torrential floods, or the fiercest infernos. This strength is so immense that it casts doubt even upon the very notion of its origin. Could such power truly be the work of the gods?
Moreover, these stars seem to have adorned the heavens since time immemorial—long before recorded history, perhaps even predating the creation of our world. If that is true, are the stars truly divine creations? The sacred texts and religious doctrines suggest otherwise, claiming that stars were mere embellishments placed in the night sky by divine will, to adorn the beauty of darkness and offer omens in times of change.
Yet, is that truly the case?
Six years ago, when I was thirty-four, a celestial anomaly shook the heavens. A star fell, streaking across the night sky like a harbinger. While astrologers desperately sought to decode its divine meaning, I chose another path—a path of discovery.
Guided by the trajectory of the fallen star and every piece of information I could unearth, I embarked on a three-year journey to the northernmost reaches of the continent. At last, I found it.
Samael raised her hand, the crimson sleeve of her robe slipping back to reveal a small, dark fragment cradled in her palm—a piece of the fallen star.
"Behold," she said. "What appears to be an ordinary rock is merely a fragment of what I discovered. The original was massive, towering like a house. Its impact carved a crater into the earth, the surrounding lands scorched by fire, and forests reduced to ash. Plains had collapsed into valleys. Such destruction could rival only the most catastrophic forbidden spells."
Du Wei could not help but sigh in admiration.
To him, Samael was extraordinary—a woman daring enough to challenge the orthodoxy of a world bound by faith in divine creation. In her meticulous pursuit of truth, she had come closer than anyone to uncovering it.
"Inconceivably," she continued, "this so-called star is no more than an immense stone. Yet, its properties defy comprehension. It is impervious, imbued with a magnetic pull of magic that I have never encountered before. Not one alchemist or blacksmith—no matter how seasoned—could identify its material. In other words, this stone is not of our world."
Her image flickered, the spell fueling her projection waning. Du Wei straightened, silently willing the vision to endure.
"I began to question everything," Samael declared solemnly. "If the gods shaped this world, gave it life, light, and the cycles of seasons, then who crafted the very laws governing it all? Are these laws divine in origin—or something else entirely?
"I spent my life studying the heavens. For a decade, I recorded the stars' movements nightly, only to discover that their shifts—believed to be divine messages—followed predictable, cyclical patterns. Stars would rise in the east during summer, retreat westward in winter, and return as the years revolved. Their dance is a law unto itself, a cosmic rhythm devoid of divine whimsy.
"And what of their light? Even when hidden behind the sun's glare, their presence endures. Through magic, I sensed them during the day, shining silently in the endless sky.
"The stars are not decorations of the night. They are not messages from the gods. They are bound by their own immutable rules—rules that exist beyond human comprehension."
As her image waned, Samael's voice sharpened.
"The temple preaches that stars are divine riddles; I uncovered their immutable cycles. The temple claims stars are nocturnal adornments; I found their persistent presence even in daylight. The temple asserts that this world and all within it were wrought by the gods; yet, the material of the stars belongs to no known substance of this realm.
"Thus, I began to doubt whether the stars were truly the work of the gods. And in time, I began to question the gods themselves."
Du Wei gazed at her fading form, awestruck. In a world bound by dogma, she stood as a solitary beacon of reason, a trailblazer unafraid to challenge the establishment.
"My life's work," she concluded, "rests in this room. My legacy lies beyond the false door and its mundane treasures. Here lies my true inheritance: the truth of the stars. But be warned—the path I walked is fraught with peril. This world, ruled by those who cling to authority, will never accept such revelations."
With a flash, the projection vanished, plunging the room into darkness.
"Here lies my final revelation: within the study hangs an oil painting, a vessel for a magical being of my own creation. I sealed this entity within the canvas, and it shall serve as your guide in mastering all that I have left behind. Every spell of my celestial magic—preserved not in written words nor parchment, for safety's sake—resides within this magical creature. To unlock its secrets, you must first break the seal and release it.
My child, though I know not how many years shall pass before you uncover this place, I trust that the illustrious lineage of the Rowland family will one day produce a magical genius worthy of this legacy. Understand that my life's work—the relentless questioning of divine authority—is an act this world cannot tolerate. Those who wield power will go to great lengths to obliterate such knowledge. I could not leave this openly for the world, so I have concealed it in this hidden manner.
The magical being I created is bound by an enchantment: it awakens only under the cover of night and remains dormant during the day, much like the stars themselves—unseen in daylight, yet ever-present. Only those with extraordinary spiritual strength can perceive its existence at night. If you have reached this place, I believe your spirit is strong enough to become a formidable mage. I am ready to impart the entirety of my celestial magic to you.
Remember this incantation—it is the key to unsealing the creature within the painting. Once freed, it will obey your commands without question. From that point forward, your destiny lies in your own hands."
The astrologer uttered the final spell with deliberate precision, each syllable articulated with care, her fingers tracing slow, intricate gestures. Duwei committed every detail to memory. Then, with a sudden burst of brilliance, the figure of light flared and vanished.
The room plunged into darkness. Hastily, Duwei lit a candle and inspected the study. Finding nothing more to accomplish for the moment, he retraced his steps back through the secret passage.
When he emerged into the library, his clothes were coated with dust. Fortunately, the room's shelves were laden with equally dusty ledgers, providing a plausible excuse for his disheveled state.
Closing the hidden door behind the bookshelf, Duwei turned to the painting. "I've been inside," he said, addressing the eyes in the portrait. "I've seen everything, including her final words."
The painted eyes seemed to relax, a flicker of hope glimmering within them.
"You're asking about the seal, aren't you?" Duwei chuckled. "Yes, I've found the incantation. However... there's a bit of a problem."
He smiled ruefully.
Semel's instructions were clear: only those with formidable spiritual strength could discern the painting's secret. And such individuals were almost always mages, or at least possessed the potential to become one.
Her celestial magic required a mage to inherit it, hence the intricate test. Those unable to perceive the painting's movements lacked the spiritual aptitude necessary for magic. But those who could see were destined to learn.
The incantation was the key to breaking the seal and liberating the magical creature within. But even Semel, in all her brilliance, could not have anticipated that generations later, the Rowland family would produce an anomaly like Duwei.
Despite possessing an exceptional gift for spiritual perception, Duwei was utterly devoid of magical affinity.
In short, he couldn't perform the spell. He couldn't unseal the painting. And without Semel's magical creature, he had no way to access the celestial magic she had entrusted to it.
It was a paradox, an unsolvable riddle—a perfect deadlock.
Duwei couldn't help but laugh bitterly. To stand before a treasure so vast, with the door already open, only to find oneself unable to enter—it was a peculiar kind of torment.
Then, suddenly, his eyes lit up. "Wait... didn't I capture a mage recently?"
That mage, capable of using the lowest-grade magical ability to execute the pinnacle of "instant casting," might just...