The world was breaking apart.
Edge stood on a fractured plain, watching as reality itself split into jagged shards. The sky above had torn open, revealing a churning void where stars burned with cold, malevolent light. Around him, seven pillars of elemental energy—fire, water, earth, air, lightning, light, and shadow—strained to hold back the encroaching nothingness.
At his feet lay six broken swords, each corresponding to one of the elements. In his hand, he held the seventh—a blade of silvery starlight shot through with veins of all seven elements. The weapon pulsed with power, hungry and insistent, as if urging him toward the rift in reality.
"The Veil weakens." The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, resonating within Edge's very being. "The Breach widens. What was bound seeks freedom."
Before him, the void parted like a curtain, revealing a figure shrouded in darkness. It wore a familiar face—Edge's own, but older, hardened by experiences yet to come, eyes glowing with the same power that flowed through the sword in his hand.
"You don't understand what you are," his doppelgänger said, voice echoing strangely. "What you were made to be."
Edge tried to speak, but no sound emerged. The sword in his hand grew heavier, pulling him toward the rift with inexorable force.
"Choose," his other self commanded. "Bind or break. Preserve or transform. The Veil awaits its fate."
The ground beneath Edge crumbled. As he fell toward the void, the seven elemental pillars collapsed simultaneously. The sword in his hand shattered, fragments spinning around him like stars breaking orbit. His doppelgänger watched impassively, fading into the encroaching darkness.
The last thing Edge saw before the void swallowed him was a symbol etched in starlight: seven circles arranged in a constellation, connected by lines that formed a pattern like wings outstretched...
Edge jolted awake, gasping for breath. Sweat drenched his bedclothes despite the cool autumn air flowing through his partially open window. This dream had been more vivid than any before, the details etched into his mind with painful clarity.
The dampening pendant against his chest burned like ice. He tore it off, and immediately the air around him shimmered with silver-white energy, responding to his agitation. The focusing disk on his nightstand activated without being touched, its runes glowing brightly in the darkened room.
Edge forced his breathing to slow, using the meditation techniques Ravencrest had taught them for mana control. Gradually, the wild energy subsided, though the images from his dream remained sharp in his memory.
Seven broken swords. A tear in reality. A choice between binding and breaking. The same elements had appeared in different combinations across multiple dreams now, too consistent to be random products of an overactive imagination.
He reached for the water pitcher beside his bed, but his hand trembled so violently that he knocked it over instead. Water spilled across the stone floor, reflecting the pale moonlight from his window.
In the rippling surface, for just an instant, Edge thought he saw the constellation from his dream—seven points of light connected in the pattern of outstretched wings.
"Focus," he whispered to himself, his father's training asserting itself. "Control your mind, control your body, control your fear."
The Winter Tournament was now just a week away. Between regular classes, his evening training sessions with Lyra, and additional guidance from the third-year student Adran, Edge had little time to dwell on the increasingly disturbing dreams. But they were taking their toll—dark circles had formed beneath his eyes, and his concentration sometimes wavered during crucial exercises.
"You look terrible," Min observed bluntly at breakfast, sliding a cup of strong tea toward Edge. "More nightmares?"
Edge nodded, grateful for both the tea and Min's perceptiveness. Of all his colleagues, she had been the most attuned to his deteriorating sleep patterns. "Same basic elements, but more... intense."
"Have you considered speaking with the medical faculty? Dream disturbances can indicate mana instability."
"It's not medical," Edge replied with quiet certainty. "These aren't ordinary nightmares."
Min leaned closer, voice dropping. "Prophetic dreaming is rare but documented among certain unique mana signatures. If that's what you're experiencing..."
"I don't know what they are," Edge admitted. "But they feel significant. Connected to whatever makes my magic different."
"Connected to the Astral Blades?" The question came from Talon, who had joined them silently, his customary grace belying his size.
Edge stared at him in shock. He'd told no one about his research into the legendary weapons, not even during his training sessions with Lyra.
Talon's expression remained calm. "You left Librarian Moira's scroll on your desk last week when I came to borrow your Mana Theory notes. I recognized the language from my homeland's historical texts."
"You can read ancient Imperial script?" Min asked, impressed.
"The Southern Isles preserved many texts lost to the mainland," Talon explained. "Including accounts of the Void Breach and the seven champions who sealed it with star-forged weapons."
Edge glanced around to ensure they weren't overheard. "I was going to return the scroll without mentioning it to anyone. Moira warned me to keep it private."
"With good reason," Talon said gravely. "In my homeland, the Astral Blades are not considered merely historical artifacts but powerful symbols. Some worship them as divine instruments. Others fear them as harbingers of world-ending calamity."
"And you think my dreams are connected to these weapons?" Edge asked.
Talon's dark eyes were serious. "The coincidence would be remarkable otherwise. Your unique mana signature, your dreams of seven swords, your manifestation abilities—all align with ancient descriptions of those who might be called to wield the Astral Blades."
Min looked between them, her analytical mind clearly processing this new information. "If this is true, Edge, your situation is more significant than preparing for a tournament duel."
"The duel comes first," Edge said firmly. "Whatever these dreams mean, they concern a future that won't matter if I fail against Caius and lose my position here."
Both of his friends accepted this practical assessment, though concern remained evident in their expressions.
"After breakfast, come with me," Talon said. "There's something that might help with both your dreams and your preparation."
Curious, Edge followed Talon after they finished eating. Instead of heading toward the classrooms or training areas, Talon led him to a small garden tucked away in a courtyard Edge had never noticed before. The space was clearly maintained but seldom visited, with exotic plants arranged in precise patterns around a central stone basin.
"A meditation garden," Talon explained, removing his shoes before stepping onto the moss-covered path. "Created by a Southern Islander who taught at the Academy generations ago. Few students know of it now."
Edge followed suit, the soft moss cool beneath his feet. As they approached the central basin, he noticed that it contained not water but a dark, fine-grained sand arranged in intricate spiral patterns.
"In my homeland, dream-walking is considered a legitimate magical discipline," Talon said, seating himself cross-legged beside the basin. "Not divination exactly, but a way to communicate with one's deeper self—the part that processes truths our conscious mind cannot grasp."
Edge sat opposite him. "How does it work?"
"Focus and symbolism." Talon gestured to the sand. "This is psychoreactive material. It responds to mental energy, taking shapes that represent subconscious patterns." He placed his hands just above the surface. "Like so."
The sand shifted beneath his palms, forming new patterns—interconnected circles and flowing lines that reminded Edge of the earth magic Talon used in combat practice.
"Now you try. Remove your pendant first."
Edge slipped the dampening crystal over his head, immediately feeling the familiar surge of unrestrained mana. He placed his hands above the sand as Talon had demonstrated, focusing on the recurring elements from his dreams.
The reaction was immediate and dramatic. The sand erupted upward, forming a miniature replica of the seven pillars from his dream, arranged in a circle around a central point. Then the formation collapsed, reforming into the constellation symbol—seven points connected in the pattern of wings.
"Remarkable," Talon breathed. "The sand typically produces abstract patterns, not such literal representations."
Edge stared at the symbol, feeling an inexplicable connection to it. "This appeared in my dream last night."
"It's the Constellation of the Guardian," Talon said, his voice hushed with recognition. "A celestial arrangement said to appear when the Void Breach last threatened our world. The seven points represent the Astral Blades."
"And the wing pattern?"
"In our legends, the Guardian who sealed the Breach had wings of light. Some texts describe this being as an angel, others as a manifestation of collective will." Talon's expression grew troubled. "Edge, these are not ordinary dreams. They're resonance echoes."
"Meaning?"
"Objects of great magical significance leave impressions in the fabric of reality. Those sensitive to such frequencies can perceive these echoes, especially during sleep when conscious barriers are lowered." He gestured to the sand formation. "You're receiving echoes from the Astral Blades, or at least from the events surrounding them."
Edge felt a chill despite the garden's pleasant temperature. "Why me? I'm not anyone special—just a farmer's son who happened to manifest unusual abilities."
"Perhaps that's precisely why," Talon replied. "The legends say the original wielders of the Astral Blades were chosen not for hereditary power but for compatibility with the weapons' purpose. They came from diverse backgrounds, united only by their capacity to channel the blades' energy."
The sand shifted again, now forming a perfect replica of Edge's manifested sword. The detail was uncanny, down to the crossguard and hilt design that had emerged through weeks of refinement.
"Your manifestation isn't random," Talon continued. "It's based on memory—not your personal memory, but something deeper. The collective memory embedded in the magical frequency you naturally attune to."
Edge watched as the sand sword dissolved, reforming into the seven-pointed constellation once more. "What does this mean for the duel? For my time at the Academy?"
"Immediately? Perhaps nothing." Talon's voice was calm but serious. "But eventually, you will need to seek answers beyond what the Academy curriculum provides. These echoes are calling to you for a reason."
"First the duel," Edge repeated his earlier assertion. "Then answers."
Talon nodded. "Agreed. And this can help with your immediate challenge as well." He gestured to the sand basin. "Regular meditation here will help stabilize your sleep patterns and improve your mana control. Both essential for facing Caius."
As they prepared to leave the garden, Talon placed a hand on Edge's shoulder. "One thing more. In my homeland, those who receive such echoes are considered touched by fate. It is both honor and burden."
"I never asked for either," Edge said quietly.
"Few who bear great responsibility ever do." Talon's smile was sympathetic. "But from what I've seen, you bear it better than most would."
That afternoon, during Individual Study, Edge met with Adran Teller as arranged. The third-year student had proven to be a demanding but insightful instructor, focusing on practical combat applications rather than theoretical foundations.
"Your technique has improved," Adran observed as Edge completed a complex sequence of manifestation-enhanced sword forms. "But your concentration still wavers at crucial moments."
"Sleep disturbances," Edge admitted.
Adran's expression sharpened with interest. "Dreams?"
"Yes. Increasingly vivid."
"Common with developing manifesters," Adran said, though something in his tone suggested he found Edge's case less than common. "Your subconscious processes magical patterns during sleep, sometimes producing symbolic representations."
The explanation aligned with Talon's but lacked the specific connection to the Astral Blades. Edge wondered how much Adran knew or suspected about his unusual mana signature.
"Let's work on combat transitions today," Adran continued, apparently satisfied with Edge's acknowledgment of the sleep issue. "Caius favors overwhelming initial attacks followed by precision strikes against disoriented opponents. Your best counter is fluid adaptation—constant movement, varied manifestations that don't allow him to predict your patterns."
For the next hour, they practiced transitions between different combat applications—switching from offensive to defensive manifestations instantly, combining physical movement with magical constructs, using the environment to amplify or redirect energy.
"There's one more technique that might prove useful," Adran said as their session neared its end. "Advanced, not typically taught to first-years, but within your capability I think."
He demonstrated a specialized form where manifestation energy was divided between offense and defense simultaneously—a glowing shield on one arm, a weapon in the other hand, both maintained without deterioration in quality.
"Split focus," Adran explained. "The key is not dividing your attention but expanding your awareness to encompass multiple constructs as parts of a unified whole."
Edge attempted the technique, drawing on his practice with Lyra's resonator. His first efforts produced a stable sword but a wavering shield that flickered like a candle in wind.
"You're still thinking of them as separate manifestations," Adran coached. "Visualize them as extensions of the same energy—different expressions of a single intent."
Edge closed his eyes, focusing on Adran's guidance. He visualized his mana not as distinct constructs but as a continuous flow with multiple expressions. When he opened his eyes, both sword and shield had stabilized, maintaining consistent form and intensity.
"Excellent," Adran said, genuine approval in his voice. "Most third-years need months to achieve that level of integration."
As they concluded the session, Edge's curiosity finally overcame his discretion. "Why are you helping me? We had no connection before Caius issued his challenge."
Adran considered the question for a moment before answering. "Let's just say I have my own history with the Vellaren family and their particular brand of elitism."
"Personal grudge?"
"Broader principle," Adran corrected. "The Academy was established to develop magical talent regardless of origin. The noble families have gradually corrupted that purpose, creating an environment where birthright often matters more than ability." His eyes held Edge's. "Your presence disrupts that comfortable arrangement. Your success would be... significant beyond a single tournament victory."
The explanation resonated with Lyra's veiled comments about why she had chosen to assist Edge. Both seemed to view him as a potential challenge to established hierarchies—a role he had never sought but increasingly found himself cast into.
"I'm just trying to survive and learn," Edge said honestly.
Adran's smile held a touch of irony. "Sometimes that's all it takes to change things. Just surviving in spaces where others believe you don't belong."
That evening, Edge returned to the meditation garden Talon had shown him. The quiet space offered respite from the constant demands of Academy life and the looming pressure of the upcoming duel. As he sat before the sand basin, focusing on stabilizing his mana flow, he tried to clear his mind of both future concerns and the cryptic dreams that continued to plague him.
The sand responded to his energy, forming patterns that shifted between the now-familiar constellation symbol and various weapon shapes—sometimes his manifested sword, other times more exotic forms he'd never consciously imagined.
So absorbed was he in the meditative process that he didn't notice the quiet footsteps approaching until a voice broke his concentration.
"I thought I might find you here."
Edge looked up to see Lyra standing at the garden's entrance, her copper hair catching the last rays of sunset.
"How did you know about this place?" he asked, surprised.
"Talon mentioned it during afternoon training," she replied, moving to stand beside the sand basin. "Interesting patterns."
The sand still held the impression of the seven-pointed constellation. Edge expected it to dissolve when his concentration broke, but it remained intact, the lines crisp and precise.
"The Guardian's Wings," Lyra said softly, recognition clear in her voice.
Edge's surprise must have shown, for she added, "Yes, I know what it represents. The Astral Blades aren't as obscure a topic as some at the Academy would prefer."
"You know about my research."
"I suspected," she corrected. "Your questions in the Library. The focusing disk's reaction patterns. Your unusual mana signature. The pieces fit together for anyone looking closely enough."
"And you've been looking closely," Edge observed, not bothering to hide his wariness.
Lyra's expression remained neutral, but something flickered in her eyes—a momentary vulnerability quickly suppressed. "We should continue our training. The tournament is days away."
Edge recognized the deflection but didn't press. Instead, he rose from his position by the sand basin, watching as the constellation pattern finally dissolved back into random grains.
"One question before we go," he said. "You recognized that symbol immediately. Why is a first-year student familiar with obscure magical constellations related to legendary weapons?"
Lyra hesitated, weighing her response. "Because my family has been searching for the Astral Blades for generations," she finally said. "And they're not the only ones."
The admission hung between them, laden with implications neither was ready to fully address. Edge sensed there was much more to Lyra's story, but also that pressing now would likely result in her withdrawal rather than further revelation.
"Let's train," he agreed, reaching for his dampening pendant. "The duel comes first."
That night, for the first time in weeks, Edge slept without dreams of swords or rifts in reality. Instead, his mind replayed combat scenarios against Caius, testing strategies and techniques from his various training sessions. When he woke before dawn, he felt more rested than he had in days, his mind clear and focused on the immediate challenge ahead.
The Winter Tournament was three days away. Whatever larger destiny might be calling to him through dreams and ancient echoes, it would have to wait. First, he had to prove himself worthy of remaining at the Academy at all.
As he prepared for morning training, Edge caught sight of his reflection in the small mirror above his washing basin. For an instant—so briefly he might have imagined it—he thought he saw that same silver glow in his eyes that had appeared in his dream-self.
Then it was gone, leaving only his ordinary reflection—a farm boy from Eastford trying to find his place in a world of power and ancient magic far beyond anything he'd been raised to understand.