Falling-Stars
1388 Words
The world seemed to be holding its breath.
Not the kind of silence that soothes, but the heavy stillness that weighs on the chest, like the pause before an executioner’s blade falls.
Ren and Noah sat on the sloping top edge of the academy’s ancient training dome, their legs dangling over the drop. From here, the academy stretched far below—pathways, courtyards, and lecture halls etched in stone. Everything lay beneath them in an oppressive quiet.
A few students passed along the terraces in the distance, their gazes fixed on the ground, their shoulders hunched. No one dared make eye contact. Not today.
Ren held a plastic cup of flat cola, half-crushed in his palm. The fizz had long since died—just like the taste.
Noah sipped his own drink and grimaced. “Tastes like regret.”
Ren smirked. “You picked it.”
“Yeah,” Noah muttered, “and I regret it like every choice I’ve made since stepping into this academy.”
They sat in silence, the sky above a wide canvas of pure blue, empty and merciless. Not a single cloud dared to intrude.
Then Noah leaned back against the dome, voice casual on the surface but carrying something heavier beneath.
“Y’know… there’s this old story. They say seven stars fell to Earth once. Not meteors, not debris. Real stars. Each one searching for a human host.”
Ren turned his head slightly. “The War of Myths thing?”
“Yeah. Seven divine lights, each binding itself to a person, carrying the essence of a legendary myth. Hercules. Gilgamesh. Arjuna. Legends like that.” He exhaled. “Whoever survives that war gets one wish. Absolute. Any wish.” He paused, smirking faintly. “Sounds fake as hell. But I like it.”
Ren leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “So basically… a cosmic death match sponsored by the universe itself?”
“Exactly.” Noah grinned.
“But,” Ren countered, “there are over a hundred thousand magicians alive right now. And not all of them are weak. Odds of us being chosen are microscopic.”
“True.” Noah nodded. “And even then, only certain bloodlines can withstand Myth Synchronization. We’re nobodies in that pool.”
Ren went quiet, his eyes following the faint stir of a branch in the wind.
“…Still,” he said at last, “what if I did get chosen?”
Noah nearly choked on his drink. “You?”
Ren didn’t flinch. “Yeah. Me.”
Noah turned toward him, expression incredulous. “Okay—bold. Hilarious. But bold. You’ve never even told me what you’d wish for.”
Ren’s voice dropped, cold and heavy. “That’s easy.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Kill ninety-nine percent of all magicians.”
Noah blinked.
Ren’s eyes glinted. “Leave only one thousand alive. Then… hunt them myself. Erase the bloodlines completely.”
Silence. Thick. Metallic.
Noah stared, slow disbelief dawning. “You’re actually serious…”
Ren said nothing. He only stared at the horizon, as if daring it to stare back.
“That’s not a wish,” Noah finally said. “That’s genocide.”
“It’s peace,” Ren replied, his tone flat—too flat. “If the bloodlines die, the cycle ends. No more wars. No more competitions of ego. Just silence.”
Noah leaned back, exhaling hard. “You’ve got something broken in your head.”
Ren tilted his chin, unbothered. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m the only one thinking clearly.” He lay back, arms folded beneath his head, the sunlight brushing his profile. “Most people want change. I want endings.”
“…That’s messed up,” Noah muttered. “But weirdly poetic. Still—why? Why do you want to kill every mage?”
Ren closed his eyes. “Because I don’t want them suffering through this war. I want to give them freedom. Real freedom. And in my view, this is freedom. The only kind that matters.”
Noah lay beside him on the dome’s concrete, mirroring his posture. The surface was cold even through their uniforms.
“Wanna hear my wish?” Noah asked.
“No.” Ren didn’t move.
“Too bad.” Noah smirked. “I want real love.”
Ren cracked one eye open. “That’s… generic.”
“No. Not obsession. Not lust. Not the kind of love people fake when they’re scared to be alone. I want the real thing. The kind that stays after pain. After loss. After knowing every awful truth about someone and choosing them anyway.”
Ren scoffed. “So you’re confusing love with attachment.”
Noah groaned. “God, no. I just don’t know how to tell the difference. Every time I think I’ve found it, it turns out to be loneliness in disguise. Or neediness. Or some toxic co-dependency.”
“Insecure,” Ren muttered.
“Not insecure!” Noah pouted. “Just… emotionally complicated.”
“That’s what insecure people say.”
Noah sighed loudly. “Ren, I swear, you’re impossible.”
Ren smirked. “And you’re an idiot.”
“Yeah, but I’m the best idiot.”
“The best i***t I know.”
“Thank you,” Noah said proudly.
They lay there in silence as the sky bled into orange. The moment held—quiet, fragile, as though the world itself was pausing for breath before something inevitable.
Far above them, beyond the atmosphere, beyond even the constellations—something stirred.
Not a sound.
Not light.
An absence.
Reality peeled back like burning parchment, edges curling into void.
Not dead space. Not nothingness. Something older. A realm where existence had never touched.
And in that emptiness, something pulsed.
Not energy. Not matter. Something greater. A rhythm like the heartbeat of the multiverse.
Each pulse shaped form.
Not with colour. Not with edges.
But with will. With law. With destiny.
A container emerged, forged not of atoms but of thought. At its center, a light blazed—blue, blinding, perfect.
From it radiated waves.
Not sound. Not voice.
A call.
The summon cascaded down—through layers of law and logic, through dreams, through abstractions—until it struck the bottom.
Our world.
And then—
Time stopped.
Hearts froze mid-beat.
Lungs held their breath.
Forks hung in midair.
Birds halted mid-flight.
Words vanished half-formed.
Even the wind forgot how to move.
The world was still.
Except—
For seven lights.
They emerged from the void, not like meteors, not like flames. No heat. No trail. Just selection.
Seven myths.
Wrapped in echoes of gods, kings, monsters, and saints. Each bearing destiny. Each seeking a vessel.
They split—scattered across Earth.
Not seeking strength.
Not wealth.
Not fame.
But resolve. Conviction. Potential.
The first found its host.
Euler von Shila.
A young man walking to the market, thoughts small, unremarkable.
The light struck.
Not like lightning.
Like truth.
It pierced bone. Soul. Self. Did not knock. Did not ask.
It entered.
Time resumed—only for him.
People froze around him, trapped in still frames. Birds locked in the sky.
Euler’s lips trembled into a manic grin. “Yes… yes! I’m chosen! I’m the one!”
He fell to his knees, tears cutting lines across his cheeks.
“Mom… Dad… they’ll remember me now.”
The light pulsed. Waiting.
He chose.
“I pick the myth of Hercules.”
And everything broke.
Agony unlike body or mind. Deeper. His limbs twisted. His skin cracked and glowed. The weight of the Twelve Labors crushed his soul.
He saw the Nemean Lion. The Hydra. Cerberus. He screamed—but no sound left his throat.
His heart burst. His last thought: I’m sorry, Mom… Dad…
Euler von Shila died.
The myth abandoned him. Unimpressed.
It moved on.
Dozens more were chosen. Dozens more failed. Some begged. Some chose wrong. Some simply vanished. None remembered. None worthy.
Until—
The pulse rippled again. Gentle. Deliberate.
Two more.
Ren’s eyes snapped open.
The air thickened, alive with unseen weight. His hands glowed faintly, veins alight with power.
Across from him, Noah stood frozen, his own eyes wide in recognition.
No words. None needed.
They understood.
Chosen.
The War of the Stars had begun.
And they were no longer bystanders.
- Writer
