“You may not believe in justice, but I do,” Sceptra seethed, his voice low and sinister. Raising his voice, he looked around the room at the other Stars, none of whom had tried to intervene in his assault.
“Leo, Star of Balance, you have defiled your duty and position as an Empyrean, murdering a Star twice your worth. You will no longer sit as one of the Council.” Sceptra finished his decree and turned to face Leo, lowering his voice once more, fury dripping with every syllable. “Now you will learn why the mortals call meDominion.”
And with a flick of Sceptra’s wrist, the Star of Balance exploded, stardust erupting from where the shadows engulfed him.
A loudboomechoed through the circular room, blasting the windows apart and throwing any remaining chairs across the room. The Stars shouted, covering their faces as stardust pelted them.
Sceptra breathed deeply, reeling in his shadows, but just as the last of the darkness dissipated, a rumble hummed beneath them.
The golden floors cracked, and the floor shattered beneath them, collapsing into a swirling dark hole and pulling the Stars out of the Empyrean. Screams were silenced as the destruction of Balance brought the cosmos to its knees and slowly devoured the deities.
And then, the Stars fell.
CHAPTER 1
Despite the conflicting texts surrounding Dominion’s motives, there is no contest regarding the final devastating event. Without the intervention and martyrdom of Balance, the fallen Empyrean would have surely destroyed the realm, if not the cosmos.
The Shattering: A History
THE CITY WAS A GRAVEYARD long before the Plague took hold. Astraia pulled her hood lower as she slipped through the narrow alley, the fabric damp with sweat, though dawn had barely broken. Even before the sun crested the rusted rooftops, heat rippled from the cobblestones, thick with the breath of too many bodies, too little hope.
The stench of rot came as no surprise to Astraia Solenne after five years spent in the back alleys and slums of Tenebris. It clung to the very city walls like a second skin. She choked back bile as the odor flooded her senses, dense and wet in the humid air.
Her boots echoed on the uneven stones, each step drawing her deeper into the slums’ underbelly. The buildings leaned together like conspirators, their cracked stone facades weeping with moisture, shadowed windows dark and silent. Between them, scraps of cloth fluttered from broken frames—attemptsat privacy where none could truly be found. These were not homes but holding pens for the dying. The thought made Astraia shudder.
Striding past several dilapidated merchant stalls and boarded shops, she gritted her teeth, fists clenched by her sides until her nails bit into her skin. Once a heart of trade and commerce, Tenebris had spiraled into chaos with the emergence of the Plague four years ago. When the regent King Maelrik took the black throne of the Celestial Court, he had disregarded the city and its people as expendable chaff in the wind, letting nature take its damning course.
“Dominion take you,” she cursed under her breath.
Disease swept through the slums faster than the sun could rise. Poverty and crime soon followed, transforming the bustling city into a cesspool of debauchery and black-market deals. Astraia did what she could, but it was a drop of light in a sea of shadows. Physical healing could not mend the broken spirit of the city.
A child’s cough echoed ahead, sharp and brittle, and the bond stirred at her spine.
No. Not now.
She took several deep breaths, willing the flare to subside. The bond had grown restless these past weeks, more unpredictable with every pulse. It burned colder than it once had, but the flames were no less fierce.
Her eyes swept the alley ahead. The morning was quiet, save for the buzzing of flies and the distant clatter of carts in the market district beyond these walls. She cursed as her foot landed in a pool of something foul. Rain, maybe. Blood, more likely.
Several heads peeked out of covered doorways as she passed. Some of the older women placed a hand on their heart, then raised it skyward, thanking the silent Stars. The people of the slums knew her face, or at least her shadow. The girl in the navycloak who came when the red marks appeared and chased away death.
Astraia nodded at the sign of respect toward her but internally scoffed at their ill-placed faith. She did not come for thanks. Astraia called Tenebris home, and she had no intention of abandoning the helpless. She came because no one else would and no one else cared to try. Especially not the Stars.
Lost in thought, she nearly passed the door. A rotting tarp, painted over with a bold red “X”, hung limply from the frame. The mark of death. No one would come here. No one but her.
Astraia was the only one at this end of the alley, but eyes watched her from other doorways—silent, hollowed faces. She adjusted her navy cloak tighter around her dark hair and took a deep breath before pulling the tarp aside.
Inside, the air was thick with death.
Astraia stepped into the dark, the tarp falling closed behind her. Sweet, cloying rot clung to her tongue, instantly drying her mouth. Instinct had her hand hovering near the dagger at her thigh, though she knew it would not be needed. Not for what waited here.
The room was small, no more than four paces wide. Shadows crouched in every corner, and the only sound was labored breathing. Someone still alive. Barely.
Her boots crunched on the dirt floor as she advanced
A shape stirred in the far corner.
“Who’s there?” Astraia called, her voice low, steady.
