The banquet continued deep into the night.

Atticus felt tired. Unfortunately, becoming a star did nothing to rid one of the exhaustion that came from dealing with people. His mind felt heavy. He wanted to go home.

As he idly contemplated escape, an announcement rang through the hall.

"Duke of Man, Kalaxt Ravenstein. Avatar Bourn Ravenstein, has arrived."

’Avatar, hm.’

It seemed his mother had been right. His cousin was recognized more as Solvath’s vessel than him.

The doors swung open and two figures entered.

The first was a broad, muscular man with a stern face. A perpetual gloom seemed to cling to him, accompanied by an oppressive presence that pressed against the hall.

The second was equally tall and broad, his expression calm and unbothered.bHis presence felt different. Deeper. More aligned with reality.

An Avatar.

The former was none other than the Duke of Man, Kalaxt Ravenstein. The latter was Bourn. His cousin. And the one his mother had spent most of last evening telling him about.

’I see.’

The power system of the Higher Planes was simple and direct, and he’d learned everything about it last night.

Every Ascendant Star possessed the ability to influence reality. Unfortunately, as creations of the Primordials, they had limits. Every ascendant star possessed equal influence over reality, unable to grow any longer. What determined victors and losers was the nature of that influence and how skillfully it was wielded.

However, people would always search for ways to place themselves above their peers. The Primordials had provided one through their followers. Each Sanctum possessed Blessed Ascendants, stars personally blessed by a Primordial.

Not only did they gain access to a second path besides their own, but their influence over reality also increased. Blessed Ascendants were usually stronger than ordinary stars.

Unfortunately, not all blessings were equal. Though nobody knew the exact criteria, it was generally believed to be tied to talent. The strength of a blessing was measured from one to ninety percent. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

Ninety percent was reserved for the strongest among the Blessed. The Avatar of a Primordial, while others fell below it.

Atticus was also Blessed by Solvath, and so was Bourn. Unfortunately, the difference between them, according to his mother, was significant.

Atticus was at thirty percent, while Bourn forty. It was expected that Bourn’s influence over reality would be greater than his own.

The Duke of Man searched the hall briefly before making his way toward Attimax. Their conversation never reached Atticus. No matter what method he employed, he couldn’t overhear a single word.

Still, something about it seemed unpleasant. His father’s eyes appeared colder and the Duke’s expression wasn’t much different.

’They don’t have a good relationship, hm.’

The Duke was his father’s elder brother. Yet it was Attimax who led the Sanctum. Atticus couldn’t help but wonder if that was where the resentment came from.

His gaze drifted across the hall, then paused. A pair of brown eyes met his own.

Bourn.

Their gazes locked. For a brief moment, everything else seemed to fade away. Then, as though Atticus were nothing more than part of the scenery, Bourn looked elsewhere.

Even as the banquet continued, he never glanced in Atticus’ direction again. Never acknowledged him. It was as though he simply didn’t care.

Atticus resisted the urge to laugh. Amusing. Such things were meaningless to him.

With practically nothing else to do, Atticus eventually escaped the banquet, though he could practically feel his mother’s stare drilling into the back of his head the entire time.

He found himself standing alone on a quiet balcony, the silver moon high above. Atticus felt strangely surreal. The Rion Sanctum, the Higher Planes, everything felt strangely familiar, as though he were back in Eldoralth. The world didn’t feel all that different.

Then he remembered what was coming, and an ache settled in his chest. Could he really bring down family just to achieve his goal?

He couldn’t. It would be far too hypocritical. Yet he also couldn’t abandon it. Atticus stared at the moon. It was full. Certain. He envied it. At least its purpose was clear, unlike his own.

"Hey."

Atticus turned and found his father standing beside him. Attimax stared up at the moon, his expression unreadable.

"Aren’t you supposed to be at the banquet? Can you just leave? You’re the God of Man." The title still felt cringe in his ears.

"It’s fine." Attimax shrugged. "They’ll still be there when I get back."

He said it so matter-of-factly that Atticus couldn’t even question it. Then Attimax looked at him. His eyes seemed to see straight through him.

"How are you holding up?"

Atticus was silent for a moment, wondering if he should say something, then ultimately decided to answer.

"What would you do if the reason you act clashes with your goal?"

"Hm. Your cousin."

Attimax gave him a knowing look before turning his gaze back toward the moon. Silence stretched between them. Then he spoke.

"Is it a goal you can abandon?"

The image of his family appeared in Atticus’ mind and he immediately shook his head.

"No."

"Then there’s your answer."

Atticus wondered if his father knew what his true goal was, his ultimate goal, whether he would give the same answer if he did. Regardless, it was sound advice. Now he knew what he would do.

"...Thanks, Dad."

...

The next day, Atticus found himself seated upon a massive throne atop a platform just below those of his mother and father.

The Duke of Man, Bourn, and many other high lords sat alongside him, while lesser lords filled the throne room.

The atmosphere was tense, as everyone knew what was coming.

"God of Man." The Duke gave Attimax a curt bow, gaze cold.

"I think it’s best we stop wasting time and make a decision. We owe it to our people to make the right one. The other lords agree with me. As the majority carrier, Lord Solvath’s essence should go to Bourn."

He gestured toward his son.

"A competition was fought. One witnessed by the entire Sanctum. His title was earned through blood and sweat, and his accomplishments recognized by all. I believe everyone present knows what the right choice is."

Murmurs of approval spread through the gathered lords.

Atticus couldn’t help but glance at Bourn. Even now, he seemed entirely detached from the proceedings. Then he looked toward his parents. Both silently met his gaze, having no intention of imterfering.

’They want me to handle this.’

Atticus turned toward the Duke.

"I have no intention of surrendering my fragments."

For the first time since the discussion began, the Duke looked directly at him.

The coldness in his eyes deepened.

"Important matters such as this affect the entire Sanctum. What you think is largely irrelevant. Do not mistake yourself for someone who has a choice."

"What makes you think I give a fuck about what you think?" Atticus’ eyes were ice. "You, everyone in this hall, everyone in this Sanctum... you all seem convinced you get a say in what I do.

"Who gave you that idea?"

The temperature dropped.

"I am Atticus Ravenstein. Son of Attimax Ravenstein and Ilyshkara Ravenstein. I am the Prince of Man.

"So remember who you’re talking to."

A flicker of coldness passed through the Duke’s eyes, but his expression remained composed.

"I’m afraid this goes beyond status, Prince. This concerns the survival of our people. The Elysion and Vealos Sanctums are already aware of the appearance of additional Solvath fragments. They are preparing for war."

He turned toward the gathered lords.

"We possess one complete Avatar while they possess two. We need another. A champion. Someone who has proven himself. Someone our people can trust."

His gaze shifted toward Bourn.

"I believe we all know who that person is."

"In that case." Atticus slowly rose from his throne, a subtle weight settling over the hall. "There is only one way to settle this."

He vanished. Gasps rang out across the throne room as he appeared at its center. His skin rippled in slow waves as flames ignited across his body.

The next moment, he stood in his star form, blazing like an inferno.

"Let’s see who the champion is."