Astraea Velzaria had never been one to hesitate.
From the moment she had become the Shining Blade of the Cosmos, she had known her purpose—to cut down those who threatened reality. To uphold the laws that Xal'Zyren Valthor had forged, to be the sword that defended existence itself.
And yet, for the first time, she found herself questioning everything.
The battle with Noctis Malphas had shaken something in her. The way he had fought, the way he had struggled against his own forced existence—it had been different from anything she had faced before.
But it was X'theraion that truly unsettled her.
Because unlike Noctis, he was not simply erasure. He was something new. Something impossible.
And if something that should not exist could still come to be—
Then had reality ever been as absolute as she had believed?
That question haunted her.
It made her grip her blade tighter.
It made her hesitate before every step forward.
Because if she could not trust the foundation of the world itself—
Then how could she trust her own purpose?
She wandered through the shifting halls of Eden, the city that had stood as the last beacon of stability in an uncertain cosmos. The place she had called home.
She had walked these streets a thousand times, seen the people who lived beneath the rule of Xal'Zyren's order.
They were safe. They were stable.
But was that all they were?
She caught glimpses of those who had never been warriors—civilians who had never questioned the laws that governed them. To them, she and Xal'Zyren were not just protectors. They were untouchable forces, gods who shaped the world they lived in.
And yet—
Had they ever asked to be ruled?
Had they ever been given the choice?
She hated that she was asking these things.
She hated that her mind would not be silent.
And deep down, she knew why.
Because she had seen a world before Xal'Zyren's rule.
A world of chaos. A world without structure.
A world where she had lost everything.
Astraea did not speak of her past. Not to Xal'Zyren. Not to anyone.
But in the silence of her mind, it replayed itself over and over.
A time before she had taken up her blade. Before she had sworn loyalty to the one who defined all things.
She had not always been strong.
She had been a child once. A girl who had known nothing but struggle.
Her home had been swallowed by the void. Not by Noctis, not by X'theraion, but by the simple, cruel chaos of a world without order.
She had watched her people disappear, erased not by some cosmic force, but by the sheer randomness of existence.
And she had survived.
Not because she was stronger. Not because she was chosen.
But because she had refused to disappear.
Xal'Zyren had found her in the wreckage of a dead world.
He had given her structure. Meaning. A purpose.
He had given her something to fight for.
And she had never questioned it.
Until now.
Until she had seen something that did not fit within the rules she had always followed.
Until she had faced the truth that reality itself might not be as infallible as she had believed.
She stood upon the highest point in Eden, staring out at the endless sky.
The war was coming.
X'theraion was rising.
And Astraea knew that she would fight. That she would stand by Xal'Zyren's side.
But for the first time, she did not know if she was fighting for the right reasons.
Her blade had always cut down the enemies of reality.
But what if—this time—reality itself was the thing that was flawed?
Would she still raise her weapon?
Would she still be Xal'Zyren's sword?
Or would she become something else?
The wind howled around her, carrying no answers.
Only the weight of a choice she was not yet ready to make.