A metallic tang still coated Kaelen’s tongue, a phantom taste of the utter humiliation from the Astral Sanctum. He stared blankly at the rough-hewn timbers of the ceiling in his meager lodging, a room on the forgotten edge of the Skymarch Isles. His rogue’s charm, once his sharpest blade, had shattered. And then, the vision. The impossible, soul-shaking vision. He was to be *her*. The Solar Bloom Priestess. A wave of nausea rippled through him.
Then, before his inner eye, a shimmering scroll unfurled. It glowed with soft, celestial light, visible only to him. Ancient symbols, flowing calligraphy, and impossible diagrams danced across its surface. This wasn't a vision; it was a manual. A divine instruction pamphlet for a role he never wanted.
“Aetheric Bloom Integration Protocols?” he muttered, the words feeling foreign, absurd.
He squinted, as if that would make the cosmic text less ridiculous. “And what’s this—Solar Bloom Awakening? Is this a sick joke?”
“What in the blazes is a Grace Quintessence?”
Kaelen felt his cynical core cracking. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, but the luminous scroll remained. It was no hallucination. Its background depicted a swirling nebula, twin celestial blooms at its heart. The emblem of the Solar Bloom Priestess lineage. Or, more accurately, the emblem of his impending doom.
His gaze drifted to a counter on the scroll: ‘Grace: 0.’ A new golden-framed notification shimmered into existence.
‘Ways to Obtain Grace: Fulfill the sacred duties of the Solar Bloom Priestess or provoke profound emotional resonance in Aetherium Weavers.’
Duties? Profound emotional resonance in Aetherium Weavers?
Who the hell were the Aetherium Weavers? Archon Seraphina, most likely. The frigid woman who’d just publicly flayed him. The thought made him wince.
That second method might as well not exist. Did he dare provoke ‘profound emotional resonance’ in someone like Seraphina? He’d already done it once. The ‘resonance’ was pure, unadulterated contempt, thick enough to choke a wyvern.
The good news? He seemed to have acquired some sort of cosmic guidance system. A… celestial cheat sheet.
The bad news? This celestial cheat sheet seemed intent on turning him into something he despised.
He wasn’t about to poke any more sleeping dragons, particularly if those dragons wore Archon robes and held sway over the entire Aetherium. His survival instincts, honed through years of petty thievery and charming his way out of trouble, screamed bloody murder.
Messing with the cosmic narrative’s main players? For them, it would be a dramatic moment, a character arc fueled by his suffering. But for Kaelen, the rogue now burdened with a divine skirt, it would be an insurmountable chasm opening beneath his feet.
And what was this “Priestess Path Guidance”? Wasn’t this just mocking him? His old self, Kaelen Thorne, the quick-witted rogue, had no ‘spiritual grace’ whatsoever. His talents lay in sharp words, quick fingers, and even quicker escapes.
He was infamous, even among the low-level Aetherium traders, for his complete lack of spiritual resonance. People with no natural affinity to the Aether could still sense its currents better than Kaelen. His ability to connect to celestial energies had been practically non-existent. Calling this a 'Path Guidance' for *him* was a cosmic joke.
As for the Solar Bloom Awakening? The Solar Bloom Priestess lineage had been… dormant. Not exactly ‘dead,’ but without a true vessel for generations. A divine power without a host.
A ‘dormant lineage’ referred to a sacred role that had lost its ‘Celestial Favor’—the direct connection to the cosmic energies it was meant to channel.
In ancient times, the most potent spiritualists, blessed by the cosmos, shaped the Aetherium Isles. They were known as ‘Aether-Blessed.’
The descendants of these Aether-Blessed inherited immense power, capable of unleashing cosmic might. This power was known as ‘Celestial Favor.’
Most Aether-Blessed families were named after the powers they embodied. For example, the Lumina Clan of the Starlight Sanctum were one such lineage. Possessing the Starlight Weaver’s Blessing, they could manifest the very fabric of the cosmos through Celestial Favor, earning them the title ‘Star-Tenders.’
However, the Solar Bloom Priestess lineage had lost its Celestial Favor centuries ago. This resulted in the absence of a true Priestess, leading to its slow fading from direct influence. It hadn’t been completely cast out from the Astral Sanctum, but its once ultimate religious authority had been usurped by the Archons, who now merely maintained the symbolic relics of the Solar Bloom.
The real reason for its dormancy seemed to be a forgotten celestial error, a grave imbalance that severed the direct conduit. Whatever had happened, it resulted in the lineage—already reduced to a symbolic role—being merely ‘tended’ rather than ‘led.’
By the time his own era rolled around, the Archons held sway. The ruling Archon, out of respect for the ancient Priestess, maintained the relics, ensuring the *idea* of the Priestess survived, even if the reality was long gone.
Kaelen Thorne, as he was, had been a rogue. A charming, self-serving rogue. He had no lineage of spiritualists, no grand history, just a knack for getting by. And through some twisted cosmic irony, he was now the designated conduit.
His father? A wandering merchant, quick with a dice roll and a silver tongue. He knew nothing of finance, less of politics, and absolutely nothing of celestial alignment. Kaelen had been raised among the gutters and the back alleys, learning to survive on his wits.
This was exactly why Archon Seraphina had been bold enough to openly scorn him. Kaelen Thorne was nothing but a loose thread, completely alone, with no noble allies or powerful connections to shield him.
Not that it would have mattered. Even high-ranking nobles and royalty hesitated to provoke the Archons—how could a lone rogue possibly stand against them?
What Kaelen inherited was nothing but a ruined sense of self—a past where he’d carved out his own existence, now crushed beneath the weight of a forced destiny. He was now a singular, living vessel for a forgotten spiritual lineage. He, Kaelen, was the new Priestess.
And his starting relationships with the primary Aetherium Weavers? One of them, Archon Seraphina, had a ‘life-and-death grudge’ with him and would love nothing more than to see his head roll.
Not to mention, his reputation was worse than stale sky-bread. A charming scoundrel, yes, but certainly not a paragon of spiritual grace.
It was the kind of perfect opening scenario that made one want to sarcastically scream:
“Never before has there been such a splendid start!”
Was there any way out of this?
Kaelen’s gaze locked onto the words “Solar Bloom Awakening.” His expression turned grim. It wouldn’t hurt to try, after all—he had nothing left to lose. His old life was already gone.
But as for the second method of gaining Grace?
Right now, Kaelen was absolutely sure he could provoke intense emotions in the Aetherium Weavers—specifically, the burning rage of wanting to tear him limb from limb. The kind of emotion that made stars themselves tremble.
Compared to ‘celestial adoration points,’ ‘emotional resonance’ was a mysterious thing. Happiness? That’s an emotion. Excitement? Also an emotion. Anger? Still an emotion. Murderous intent skyrocketing? Definitely an emotional surge! Maybe he could earn Grace by enraging Seraphina to her breaking point.
But what would the cost be? Yeah, no thanks. He wasn't about to become a 'cosmic scapegoat' anytime soon.
Then, what exactly did awakening the Solar Bloom entail? Was it simply about regaining Celestial Favor? Kaelen had a feeling it wasn’t that simple.
…Could it make him more charming? Unlikely. He already was charming. No, this was about becoming something else entirely.
Returning to his humble, somewhat dilapidated dwelling, Kaelen sighed. Ever since his public shaming, his last few unreliable connections had vanished. The place, perched precariously on a minor skyshard, was little more than a single room and a small, overgrown balcony overlooking the endless, shimmering Aether.
The only one who remained was an old, gruff steward named Elara.
“You’ve returned, Young Master.” The elderly woman, polishing a dull brass railing, looked up at Kaelen and gave him a curt nod. Her eyes held a flicker of concern, quickly masked.
Lost in thought, Kaelen barely acknowledged her before heading inside. Elara watched him for a moment. The silent, withdrawn demeanor. The way he barely reacted. For a brief moment, a flicker of surprise flashed in her eyes. It was gone in an instant.
The dwelling, while not particularly small, wasn’t exactly grand either. It was a single room, but due to years of Kaelen’s nomadic lifestyle and lack of funds for proper maintenance, much of it had accumulated layers of dust. The place was so disheveled that it resembled a temporary shelter left untouched for months.
The moment Kaelen stepped inside, a pungent stench of stale, cheap moonshine wafted up from a half-empty bottle on his small table, causing him to instinctively frown. The former Kaelen, drowning in self-pity and lethargy, had succumbed to alcohol. And since he couldn’t afford anything decent, all he drank were the nameless, bottom-shelf brews from back-alley distillers—so cheap that a few copper chips could buy an entire flask.
Whenever he was in a bad mood, Kaelen would come home and drink himself into a stupor, refusing to stop until he was completely wasted. On top of that, he never bothered with spiritual meditations or physical training, allowing his body to waste away over time. For someone so sharp, he was already frail and hollowed out.
Kaelen shook his head. “If he couldn’t even care for himself, how could he possibly care for anyone else?” He’d have to get rid of those cheap, wretched liquors at some point. No point in letting them take up space. They were a reminder of a weakness he couldn't afford anymore.
As dusk settled in, its fading light streamed through the single, grimy window, painting streaks across the old, uneven floorboards. Back in his room, Kaelen shut the door behind him, gazing quietly out towards the distant, glowing sky-islands.
But he wasn’t actually looking at the sunset. Nor was he looking at the floor. His eyes were locked onto the celestial scroll—the one that only he could see. He murmured the word, rolling it over in his mind: *Awakening*.
This was the key to his survival. Even if he wanted to test it, he’d have to accumulate enough Grace first. But how exactly was he supposed to gain it? The system didn’t specify anything clearly. Other than donating to beggars, was there any other way? Don’t tell me this so-called “Grace” is just about doing good deeds…?
Kaelen stood up, his mind already forming a plan. He pulled out a small, tarnished leather pouch from beneath a loose floorboard. Inside was the last of his rogue’s earnings. A handful of copper chips, a few tarnished silvers. His meager inheritance.
A single copper chip could only earn a tiny bit of Grace. For him, that was a luxury he couldn’t afford. But this was a necessary sacrifice! If awakening his lineage was truly possible, would money even matter in the future? He would become the Priestess, with all her power. And all her… *duties*.
With that in mind, Kaelen gritted his teeth and pulled out what little remained of his coin. He was already backed into a corner. There was no other choice. Living off his meager pile of stolen trinkets was nothing more than waiting to die—he probably wouldn’t even last long enough for Archon Seraphina to make a move.
With that settled—time to act! Just as he strode to the door, a faint shimmer appeared on the celestial scroll: Grace: 1.