Chapter 6: Cosmic Die and Astral Glyph
890 Words
Time lost meaning. Lucien Vance convulsed, another gout of blood spraying from his lips. A shockwave erupted from his body, obliterating his tent and rippling outward for hundreds of meters. Surveillance monitors shattered; trees were uprooted like kindling.
The Judicator Citadel mobilized instantly. Two Legion Commanders streaked toward the epicenter—Feng Hong and the sultry woman from the night before, her eyes alight with avid curiosity.
They halted outside the wreckage. "Legion Commander Lucien Vance?" Feng Hong bellowed. Behind him, Augur soldiers tensed.
Lucien emerged, face pallid, steps unsteady. "My apologies. Yes, it’s me."
Feng Hong and the woman scanned him. "You look half-dead!" she exclaimed.
Lucien offered a weary smile. "After witnessing the Judicator’s Combat Art… I grew reckless. Tried to mimic it. Failed spectacularly."
Feng Hong chuckled, relieved. "Too eager, my friend! Combat Arts aren’t grasped overnight. All Legion Commanders receive the Judicator’s guidance. Patience."
"Wise counsel," Lucien nodded. "My thanks, Brother Feng."
Feng Hong waved dismissively. "We stand together in this wasteland. Comrades." He signaled a soldier. "New quarters for Legion Commander Vance. Rest well—need a medic?"
"Superficial wounds. Just exhaustion," Lucien declined.
Feng Hong nodded. "Very well." He shot the woman a look. She cast one last lingering glance at Lucien before they withdrew.
Guided to a new tent, Lucien dismissed the soldier. Alone, exhilaration surged through his fatigue. Flesh Forging succeeded. And the gift it bestowed…
He raised his hand. A palm-sized Cosmic Die materialized, bathed in nebulous starlight. Six faces, like any dice, marked with pips from one to six.
An Innate Gift—granted only to a rare few who underwent Flesh Forging.
Scholars across the stars theorized Gifts were echoes of ancestral origins. Unprovable. Unimportant.
Lucien burned for its power. Before Earth, tales of Gifted Stellarcultivators—geniuses snatched up by galactic powers—had filled his ears. Any Gifted could join the Galactic Youth Conclave.
He tapped the die. It spun violently before slowing. Five faces blanked. Only one pip glowed: One.
Knowledge flooded his mind: Random retrieval. One item. From any Void Ring in existence.
Before he could react, a beam lanced from the die into empty air, tearing a momentary rift. A crystalline chip clattered to the floor. The die dimmed, vanishing.
Lucien stared at the chip. Stolen? Retrieved?
He snatched it up, slotting it into Yasta’s Wrist-Terminal. A hologram flared—three radiant characters: ASTRAL GLYPH.
Images cascaded: human silhouettes against nebulae, cosmic palm strikes echoing through the void. Thirty minutes passed before the chip dissolved to dust.
He sucked in a breath. This… changes everything.
The Astral Glyph—a method to absorb Stellar Energy by emulating celestial orbits. Each replicated star accelerated absorption. This primary stage taught eight orbits. Eightfold efficiency.
Bundled within it, a Combat Art: Stellar Palm. Palms striking with stellar fury.
Unheard of. Likely from the Inner Realms.
Lucien’s hands trembled. The Cosmic Die’s first cast—vanishing odds of retrieving such a treasure. He’d expected stolen socks, not a technique to forge empires.
Only the foundational stage, he reminded himself. Such Glyphs were guarded as clan treasures. The destroyed chip was a fresh copy, snatched from some unlucky soul. Obtaining the full sequence? A fool’s dream.
He stowed the terminal. Outside, he scaled a tree and lay against its trunk, tracing stellar orbits against the dawn sky. Looks like a lifetime of exile under the stars.
Deep within the galaxy’s heart...
A monolithic peak drifted amidst captive stars. Its summit flared like a dying ember, rhythmically dimming and reigniting, smoke ribboning through the void.
Inside, a roar shook the chamber: "GONE? You i***t! Did you gift it to that harlot? Get over here!"
A young man tumbled through a portal, clutching his backside. "I didn’t, Father! Swear it! Vanished! Poof!"
"Don’t test me! No one steals under my nose! COME. HERE!"
"NOOOO!"
Dawn found Lucien no closer to mastering the orbits. Wearily, he descended into Mount Bellcrest’s core.
The summit command center hummed. Legion Commanders and researchers filled the chamber, the Judicator’s seat empty. All eyes tracked Lucien’s entrance—curiosity, appraisal, skepticism.
"Brother Lucien! Here!" Feng Hong beckoned.
Lucien slid into the seat beside him, the sultry woman to his left. Across the table, the bespectacled woman fixed on him.
Zane Shaw entered. His gaze lingered on Lucien, assessing, before claiming his throne. "Introducing Lucien Vance, our fourteenth Legion Commander."
Lucien stood, nodded, sat.
The meeting droned—supply lines, Ghoul incursions. Lucien phased out until dismissal. Shaw motioned him to stay.
"Yesterday," Shaw sighed, probing, "I sensed no Bio-Crystal residue in you. Planned to discuss alternatives. Seems you were simply… drained."
Lucien met his gaze. "The alien was formidable, Judicator. Even wounded. It cost me everything."
"A Skyforger. Impressive kill," Shaw conceded. Silence stretched.
"Why refuse the Citadel initially?"
"Freedom. Military life… chafes."
Shaw’s knuckles whitened. "A common poison. Yet the Collapse demands unity. Sacrifices."
"Understood."
"Your injuries?"
"Healing."
"Augurs mend fast." Shaw’s voice grew distant. "Power’s a drug. The climb consumes countless souls. Even I don’t know where my path ends."
- Writer
