The night at Stargate felt different from anywhere else in the realm, especially from Mainland, District three.

  It was the home of the noble house of the Extraterrestrial Faction, a domain of quiet majesty where even the wind seemed to move with grace. The air was cool and carrying the faint scent of cosmic mist drifting down from the upper skies.

  Under that calm, Starmist sat in the west courtyard of her family’s manor, dressed in a pale nightgown that shimmered faintly under the light of a thousand stars.

  Her azure eyes reflected the constellations above, soft and distant, as though she were gazing upon a homeland lost beyond the firmament.

  Around her, the garden breathed softly: guards patrolled the marble paths, and the gentle murmur of a small fountain whispered beside her seat.

  A pile of books with varied size and color rested neatly at her side, their edges faintly illuminated by the ambient starlight. She turned a page in silence.

  Then came the sound of footsteps — slow, deliberate, heavy with age but steady with purpose.

  From the shadows of the colonnade emerged a tall man: his hair and beard white as the frost of dying stars, his skin pale with the same ethereal tone as Starmist’s own. His eyes, too, glowed a deep, translucent azure.

  He wore long, layered robes that flowed like liquid silk, every motion trailing faint motes of reflected starlight. Ten rings adorned his fingers—each of different design, all carved from sapphires and white diamonds that shimmered like tiny planets orbiting a single sun.

  He stopped beside her.

  For a heartbeat, silence hung between them, filled only by the faint ripple of the fountain.

  “Starmist,” he said at last, his voice deep yet tempered by warmth, a sound like thunder spoken softly. “May your elder brother sit with you for a while?”

  She looked up, smiling faintly. “Of course, Brother.” She moved her books aside and placed them gently on the ground.

  Lord Star — patriarch of the House of Star, leader of the Extraterrestrial Faction, and once the Seat of the Council First Generation — lowered himself beside her. The fabric of his robes whispered like distant wings as he adjusted them carefully before sitting.

  “You’ve only just arrived?” Starmist asked, closing the book on her lap.

  “About an hour ago,” he replied, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “House Quasar needed assistance. I stopped by the nearest intergalactic port to oversee the cargo.”

  “I see,” she said softly. Their white hair danced together in the gentle night wind.

  After a quiet pause, Lord Star turned toward her, his expression now edged with subtle gravity.

  “I heard you were in an accident,” he said. His eyes sharpened, glimmering with restrained concern. “Was it… Lucretius?”

  The name hit like a sudden chill. Starmist hesitated — her voice catching slightly.

  “Yes,” she finally admitted. “He didn’t mean to. I wasn’t careful either.”

  Lord Star studied her face for a long moment, then leaned back slightly, his voice calm but heavy with an ancient patience.

  “You don’t have to fear, Starmist. I’m not going to hold the Abyss accountable for this.”

  Her brows furrowed faintly — a flicker of confusion crossing her serene features.

  He lifted one hand, gesturing to a servant standing near the entrance to the courtyard. The young attendant running to him, awaiting his command.

  “Bring us something cold to drink,” Lord Star said softly.

  The servant vanished into the halls without a word.

  Lord Star chuckled softly, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening.

  “You’ve always been too kind, my dear sister,” he said, his voice warm, threaded with affection. “But tell me, have I ever once taken justice into my own hands?”

  Starmist smiled, her tone half-teasing.

  “No, you haven’t in this peace time. But everyone in the All Realm believes that if anyone were to harm a member of this family… you would make them regret it.”

  Lord Star laughed — a deep, genuine sound that echoed across the quiet courtyard.

  And indeed, she wasn’t wrong. Even the boldest of superhumans hesitated before crossing paths with the House of Star, the wealthiest and most revered noble line in the known realms. His reputation alone could silence wars before they began.

  A servant returned, carrying two slender crystal glasses filled with a soft pink drink that shimmered faintly under the starlight. The liquid gave off a cooling mist that drifted into the air like fragrant frost.

  Starmist accepted hers with a small nod, taking a slow sip. The sweetness melted on her tongue, cold and delicate.

  “Brother,” she began after a moment, her voice gentler now, “about Sevenstar… could our faction provide a little more support? The current resources might not be enough.”

  Lord Star took his glass, swirling it absently before drinking.

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll bring it up with the other Houses during our next summit.”

  A faint smile touched Starmist’s lips — the kind that carried both gratitude and pride.

  She told him then about her recent proposal to the Council: a program to fund underdeveloped regions across the realm. To her delight, every council member had approved it unanimously. And better still, Unus Bank had reported a sharp increase in profits to sustain it.

  Lord Star’s laugh rumbled through the garden once more, filled with genuine pride.

  “That’s wonderful to hear,” he said, leaning back slightly. “Though this news about Unus Bank is new to me. Still, it’s good—if the All Realm’s growth is real, our faction can extend more aid to those in need.”

  Starmist tilted her head, surprised.

  “You didn’t already know about the progress?”

  He smiled faintly, the old serenity returning to his voice.

  “I no longer sit on the Council, Matters of All Realm are no longer mine to meddle in. My time of leadership has passed.”

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  He gazed forward, his expression illuminated by the pale glow of the stars. There was no bitterness in his tone—only peace, and something softer.

  “But if you or the Council ever need guidance,” he continued, “I’ll offer what experience I can—honestly.”

  There was no pride in the way he said it. No echo of the power he once commanded. Only truth.

  “Now,” he added with a quiet smile, “my task is simpler. To raise my children well… and make sure each of them finds a future worth walking toward, no matter how different their paths may be.”

  Starmist looked up at her brother again, remembering Leroy’s message echoing faintly in her mind.

  “By the way,” she began carefully, “Leroy asked to meet you. He wondered if he could be invited to the summit. It would be… appropriate, wouldn’t it?"

  Lord Star’s lips curved into a knowing smile, the kind that belonged to older brother who’d seen too much.

  “You seem unusually enthusiastic whenever the topic involves about him.”

  Caught off guard, Starmist turned her gaze back toward the garden, her expression tightening.

  “That’s not it. I’m just… passing along a suggestion.”

  She took another sip of the sweet, chilled drink, as if to hide the faint warmth that touched her cheeks.

  “He may attend,” Lord Star said at last. “But only after the summit. The opening session is for our faction’s internal matters, no need to burden him with trivialities that don’t concern him.”

  “Understood,” Starmist murmured. “I’ll deliver the message.”

  A soft silence settled between them again. The sound of the fountain returned — calm, steady, eternal.

  “Have you spoken with Starlax?” she asked after a while.

  Lord Star folded his arms, nodding slightly.

  “Not yet. my little star was already asleep. I’ll see her in the morning.”

  His tone was peaceful, his words drifting with the night wind that rustled through the cosmic trees.

  Then Starmist’s voice shifted — quieter, but heavier.

  “The death of King Alvoria,” she said. “You’ve heard the news, haven’t you?”

  “I have,” Lord Star replied, his brows furrowing slightly as his gaze drifted to the distance. “I can’t help wondering why he did something so reckless — knowing exactly what it would cost him.”

  “You mean… answering Cygnus?” she asked. “Or trying to rebel against us?”

  “Both,” Lord Star said, exhaling slowly. The breath carried centuries of weariness. “Both were foolish.”

  Starmist went still. For a moment, only the fountain’s soft trickle filled the air.

  Then, hesitantly, she spoke again — the question she’d been holding since the news broke.

  “Do you believe Cygnus killed him?”

  Lord Star turned to her, studying her face with quiet intensity before looking skyward again. The stars reflected in his eyes like scattered shards of thought.

  “My dear sister,” he said at last, his voice low, almost reverent, “no star can shine without the darkness that follows it. But if you wish to understand what truly happened, you must look at both sides of the light and the shadow it casts.”

  His words hung in the air like prophecy. For a heartbeat, Starmist looked uncertain, her brows faintly drawn. Then understanding began to dawn — slowly.

  Starmist chuckled softly, her tone laced with gentle mischief.

  “You always manage to sound wise during a crisis.”

  Lord Star smiled faintly as he rose, stretching his arms with the ease of a man who had weathered too many storms.

  “And you,” he said, “now sit among the Council yourself. Face your challenges, sister. All realm no longer needs my guidance—it needs yours.”

  With that, he turned and walked toward the manor, his long robes whispering against the marble floor. The night had deepened into true darkness, and rest finally called to him.

  Starmist remained outside for a while longer. She returned to her book, letting the rhythm of the fountain and the quiet hum of the stars feed her recovery. She sought not healing alone, but inspiration.

  Half an hour later, she too rose and made her way inside.

  The corridors of House Star stretched long and silent — an endless hall of blue carpets and silver chandeliers, three in a row, casting a cold celestial glow upon the polished walls. The pillars gleamed with the deep hue of lazuli, while the marble walls shimmered faintly under the starlit lamps.

  It was a palace meant for eternity — cool, elegant, and heavy with heritage.

  As Starmist passed the dining hall, she noticed the lights still burning brightly. Voices echoed from within: her brother’s deep, steady tone… and another — sharper, younger, trembling with anger.

  She slowed her steps, glancing through the slight gap in the ornate door.

  Inside, Lord Star stood across a long crystal table from his eldest son, Starfall. The tension in the air was thick enough to fracture glass.

  “No,” Starfall shouted, fists clenched at his sides. “I’m not leaving the Vanguard. That’s final!”

  Lord Star’s voice remained calm, unshaken, like a tide that never rushed.

  “It’s time you learned responsibility for something greater than your own desires — for your family, and for your faction.”

  Starfall’s jaw tightened. His eyes burned.

  “Why must you always force your will on everyone?” he spat. “Can’t you see I’m not meant to lead?”

  “Lower your voice,” Lord Star said, folding his arms. “Your mother and siblings are asleep.”

  Both men stood — neither willing to sit, both too proud to yield.

  Starfall turned his head away, frustration etched deep across his face.

  “Wise? Is that what they call you? You’re not wise — you just like controlling everyone!”

  Lord Star exhaled, weary but resolute. He reached for a chair, pulled it back, and sat — not in surrender, but in quiet dominance.

  “When you’re older, you’ll understand that the survival of this faction is larger than your comfort.”

  Starfall let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and wild.

  “Oh, I see. And if I decide to leave this family entirely — what then?”

  “You cannot outrun what you were born into,” Lord Star said softly, unflinching. “Even if you flee from this house, your blood and your duty will follow. You can’t escape the shadow of your name.”

  Starfall’s teeth ground together; his breath came heavy through his nose. Rage and helplessness mixed in his expression — emotions sharpened by youth and pride.

  “I don’t care! I’m not joining that boring faction meeting, Father! I mean it!”

  He slammed his hands against the table — the crystal trembled but did not break and stormed toward the door.

  From the hallway, Starmist quickly backed away, unwilling to intrude further. She’d seen this before. Father and son were like two stars on opposing orbits — destined to collide, yet forever apart.

  Behind her, she heard her brother’s low, unwavering tone.

  “Perhaps losing your Vanguard title will be the only thing that wakes you up,” Lord Star said, his gaze fixed on the doorway. “You know what I’m capable of.”

  Starfall froze mid-step, his back stiffening. Then he turned sharply, fury spilling through his voice.

  “Stop this nonsense! You really are the most selfish man alive!”

  “Starfall,” Lord Star said again, this time with quiet command. “Lower your voice.”

  The argument echoed long after Starmist climbed the stairs to her room. The house remained calm, yet the weight of their conflict hung like a shadow beneath the chandeliers.

  Starfall’s resentment was no secret, it burned like a hidden wound through the family.

  Reaching her chamber, Starmist closed the door gently and sank onto her bed. She opened her book once more under the warm amber glow of her lamp.

  The small star-shaped radio on her bedside table hummed to life, playing faint music — soft and distant, the sound of peace she needed to drown out the echoes of her family’s storm.

  A faint crackle came from the radio — soft static threading through the air, the signal not quite clear.

  Starmist turned the small silver dial, adjusting until the sound steadied. When the channel finally held, she settled back against her pillows and reopened her book.

  The gentle swell of orchestral music filled the room — smooth, serene, a distant melody that calmed the remnants of anger echoing from downstairs. For a while, the night felt still again.

  Then, the music cut off.

  A burst of static. Then a voice — sharp, formal, urgent, broke through the quiet.

  “Breaking news. District Three on Mainland has erupted in celebration tonight. Superhumans and Commonfolk alike have flooded the streets…”

  Starmist froze mid-page, her eyes lifting slightly. She turned the volume up a notch, the faint hum of curiosity tightening her chest. It was well past midnight — nothing good ever happened in District Three at this hour.

  “…the cause of this sudden uproar is none other than the return of Council member Leroy Livingstone — the Green Wraith himself — who has just defeated Burgess, the colosseum finalist who defeated Sigurd recently, in the Arena of Valiance.

  Reports suggest the weapon masters are celebrating across the district and are expected to continue until dawn.

  Citizens are advised to remain indoors and avoid—”

  Click.

  The radio fell silent.

  Starmist exhaled softly and shut her book halfway, the faintest smile curving her lips. Her eyes drifted toward the window, where the stars still shimmered faintly beyond the glass.

  “Hmm…” she murmured under her breath, shaking her head with quiet amusement. “What is he thinks.”

  She let out a breath somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, the corner of her mouth still lifted.