Regal Coin

The dwarven angel merely stared at Astra. A cold, calculating gaze that seemed to pierce his very soul, leaving Astra with the unsettling sensation that every inch of his being was being laid bare, his most guarded secrets exposed without mercy.

"Hmmmm... how strange..." The dwarf's lips curled into the hint of a smile, his voice low and gravelly. "To think one of you still remains."

Astra, confused and uneasy, wanted to speak, to ask what? But before the words could even leave his lips, the dwarf erupted into an unexpected fit of laughter.

"Zehehehahahazeha!" The laughter was wild, almost delirious. "Oh, gods, to think the fools of Artemis and Dusk really failed." His mirth seemed endless, echoing in the hollow stillness of the forge.

Astra, too stunned to speak at first, could only mutter under his breath, "What a strange guy." If not for the oppressive aura that surrounded him, Astra might have thought the dwarf mad, especially with such brazen insults aimed at the Royal Stewards of Alfheim and Duskfall, powerful nations in their own right.

Finally, the laughter died down. The dwarf wiped tears from his eyes, still shaking his head in disbelief. Astra, ever impatient, couldn't help himself—he had to know. "You seem to know something about me?"

The dwarf's expression shifted slightly, eyes narrowing with a sharp intensity that made Astra feel as though his every thought was being sifted through, like grains of sand through a sieve.

"Ah... kid," the dwarf muttered, his voice taking on a strange, almost wistful tone. "This... this has got to be the ploy of the God of Fate."

"Fate?" Astra echoed, brow furrowing. His heart raced with confusion. Gods? Fate? What was this dwarf talking about? Was he really some sort of seer, or was this madness? Astra's head spun with questions that only seemed to multiply.

"Truly, this world continues to surprise me, even at my age," the dwarf continued, his voice holding a strange, far-off quality. His words hung heavy in the air, a riddle wrapped in mystery.

"Why?" Astra finally asked, the word slipping from his lips with an edge of frustration. Why was I different? Why was I so alone? He wanted answers—he needed them. But the dwarf's cryptic words only deepened the mystery.

The dwarf's eyes narrowed once again, and a shiver ran down Astra's spine. The intensity in the dwarf's gaze seemed almost otherworldly, as though he was looking at something far beyond Astra's understanding.

"Come." The command was soft, but undeniable. With a swift motion, the dwarf wiped the sweat from his brow and donned a simple robe, the movement both graceful and deliberate.

Astra sighed, a mix of exasperation and reluctant curiosity bubbling within him. He followed, though his steps were slow, his mind swirling with unanswered questions.

They sat near the forge, the warmth of the flames curling around them. Astra couldn't help but be mesmerized by the fire—it was an unnatural, brilliant red, almost scarlet, but as the dwarf gazed upon it, the flames shifted, becoming a brilliant orange and yellow. It was as though the flames themselves recognized the dwarf, bending to his will. Astra felt a pull in his chest, a deep and ancient recognition in the fire's glow.

"Was that... the Flame of War?" Astra asked, voice hushed with awe. He'd heard of this—its legend was whispered across many realms. The Flame of the God of War, Tyr.

"Yes..." The dwarf's voice was unexpectedly heavy, tinged with a sense of sorrow or regret. "That is Tyr's flame." He sighed deeply, his expression briefly darkening as if he carried the weight of an ancient grief.

Turning back to Astra, the dwarf's gaze softened slightly—now, for the first time, he truly looked at Astra, not through him, as if seeing him for who he really was.

"Hey, brat... What's your name?" The question was simple, but there was an edge to it—a depth that Astra couldn't quite place.

"Astra." He answered with the same nonchalance that had become second nature to him. It was a name that had no weight, no legacy. He had no family, no history. It was a name that had never mattered—until now.

"Astra huh...No last name?" The dwarf's voice was low, a hint of something else in his tone—was it curiosity? Or perhaps something darker?

"No..." Astra said with a shrug. "I never had one. And if I did, it's long gone now."

The dwarf nodded slowly, as if he'd expected that answer. A knowing glint sparkled in his eyes.

"And you, sir?" Astra asked, still trying to understand the magnitude of the figure in front of him.

The dwarf's eyes flickered for a moment, and a faint, knowing smile tugged at his lips. "Odinson Steel." His voice was rich with history, and the name itself felt like thunder in the air. The intensity in his gaze deepened, and Astra's heart skipped a beat.

Odinson Steel? Astra's mind went into overdrive. He recognized the name instantly. Odinson Steel—the father of Agnar Steel, the legendary Angel of Steel, a being of unimaginable power, one of the top-ranked warriors in all of Duskfall. Astra had heard of him in hushed whispers, stories passed down in awe-stricken tones.

Without thinking, Astra dropped to one knee, panic flooding through him. "I apologize, your eminence."

"Stop that, kid." Odinson chuckled, shaking his head as if Astra's formalities were more amusing than anything else.

Astra froze, caught between awe and terror. He was sitting face-to-face with one of the most renowned figures in the entire world—one of the most famous living legends—and he had stumbled into his forge like a bumbling fool.

"Relax..." Odinson continued, his expression softening. "I owe a certain someone a favor anyway."

"What do you mean?" Astra asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Here." Odinson tossed something toward Astra with an unexpected playfulness, as if they were old friends sharing a moment of lightheartedness.

Astra barely caught it—a coin, cool and heavy in his palm.

Odinson smiled, his blue eyes twinkling with some unspoken secret. "Nice catch, kid. The winds of fate blow strange indeed."

Astra's hand closed around the coin, and in that instant, the world around him shifted violently. His breath caught in his throat as the cold grip of his inner domain seized him.

"What the…?" he gasped, heart racing.

He had never been pulled into his inner domain like this before. This was no mere flicker of magic—this felt alive, like he was being dragged through the very fabric of his own being.

Before he could even grasp his bearings, his eyes locked onto the Coin and the star above it. The star seemed to pulse with energy, its radiance pouring into the coin, infusing it with raw, ancient power. Astra could almost hear the hum of cosmic forces, vibrations rippling through him.

And then, as quickly as it had come, he was cast out. The mark seared into his flesh grew colder still, and the very air around him twisted, vibrating with star-bound energy. For a brief moment, Astra felt himself adrift, as though standing at the edge of the void itself—gazing out into the infinite expanse of space, a mere speck in the sprawling cosmos.

He staggered back, eyes wide in shock, his body still tingling from the overwhelming surge of energy.

The dwarf stood before him, an almost knowing smile creeping across his ancient face.

Astra blinked, still processing the rush of foreign knowledge flooding his mind—skills, ideas, the very essence of the coin's power… and its legacy.

"Is… is this?" Astra stammered, his voice unsteady, struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

The dwarf's smile deepened, his voice a low rumble. "A Regal Mark, forged from the very stars themselves."

Astra's eyes darted to the coin, now glowing faintly in his hand, as words materialized upon its surface.

"For where there is day, there shall be Night."

He could hardly believe it. This coin—this living artifact—was a treasure unlike any other. A boon from the heavens, bestowed only upon those who were worthy. Its power was not just in its magic, but in its eternal connection to the stars, to the very universe itself.

Astra's heart pounded as he looked up at the dwarf, whose knowing smile now seemed all the more cryptic. He had no idea what had just begun, but deep down, he knew it was only the beginning of a far greater journey.

"And now this angel just handed me the key to unrivaled status!" Astra thought, still reeling from the surreal experience.

His heart was pounding, his mind spinning. "Wait… how did it even bind with me? I'm not a noble! Let alone a descendant of a god of that status!"

The realization gnawed at him, but before he could spiral any further, the dwarf's booming laughter cut through the chaos of his thoughts.

"Oh gods... fate truly is funny," the dwarf chuckled, his deep voice rich with amusement.

Astra's confusion only deepened as the dwarf turned his gaze to him. "Hey, star-magic boy, you do know what that is, right?"

Astra blinked, his thoughts still scrambled. "You know about my magic?" he stammered, the words tumbling out almost at the same time as his question.

The dwarf grinned, a knowing sparkle in his ancient eyes. "Listen, kid. I know more about you than you know about yourself."

Astra froze, his blood running cold as the old dwarf's words sank in. "What… what do you mean by that?"

The dwarf's voice softened for a moment before he dropped the truth that shattered Astra's carefully guarded world.

"You're the last heir of night itself. You may be the only wielder of Stars in this generation."

Astra felt the ground beneath him shift, his knees nearly buckling from the sheer weight of those words. His breath hitched as his most deeply kept secret, the magic he had hidden for years, was now laid bare in front of this ancient, unfathomable being.

He had hidden his Star Magic from everyone, even from the Dusknights—the elite order that searched for potential magic users on the streets—yet this old dwarf had unraveled it with a single sentence. There were no secrets left in the presence of this legend.

"Ancestors? Gods? Regal Coin? Night? Heir?!!" Astra's thoughts raced, confusion and disbelief warring in his mind.

The dwarf's face grew serious. His eyes hardened, and for the first time, the jovial tone vanished, replaced by a gravitas that made Astra's spine stiffen.

The dwarf's voice deepened, now infused with the raw power of mana, as if the very air around him thickened with authority. "Sit down, boy. It's time for a history lesson."

Astra, still shaken, stumbled back and sank to the ground, his legs weak from the intensity of the moment. His voice barely rose above a whisper, "Yes, my lord…" The words tumbled from his lips, instinctively, his fear overwhelming his usual calm.

The dwarf held up a hand, silencing him. "Stop with that… You can just call me Odin."

Astra's eyes widened. Odin. The name echoed in his mind with thunderous force. The legends—no, the real legends—had only spoken of Odin in whispers, tales of gods and titans, and now this very being, the ancient dwarf before him, claimed to be that same entity.

All Astra could do was nod in stunned silence, overwhelmed by the weight of this revelation.

Odin's voice was like a rumble of thunder as he spoke again. "You have no idea what you're truly carrying, Astra. The stars themselves have a will, a power beyond mortal comprehension. And now, you're tied to it. Let's see how you handle the weight of it all."

Astra could barely catch his breath, the enormity of what was happening crashing down upon him like an avalanche. How was he supposed to be the heir to night itself? How was he supposed to wield the power of stars?

But the dwarf—no, Odin—stood there, unwavering, his gaze like a storm on the horizon, waiting for Astra to begin understanding the magnitude of his place in the grand tapestry of fate.

As the weight of Odin's presence pressed down upon him, the dwarf began to speak, his voice now rich with the gravitas of aeons.

"The Regal Coin," Odin began, his tone heavy with the weight of centuries, "is not simply a mark of nobility, Astra. It is the symbol of power, of divine status, and of those who walk and are descendants from the path of the gods."

Odin leaned forward, his eyes sharp and full of knowledge. "Regal Coins are not just a symbol of status, they are the backbone of the nobility across the realms. There are five distinct coins, each representing a different rank within the noble hierarchy."

Astra listened intently, trying to make sense of everything.

"The Baron Coin," Odin began, his voice deep and steady, "is granted to the minor houses, the lesser families that hold a small portion of land and power. These houses are not insignificant, but they have limited influence in the grand scheme of things."

He paused for a moment, allowing Astra to absorb the information before continuing.

"The Marquis Coin is granted to the mid-sized houses, those that wield a fair amount of power but are still beneath the major players. These houses have influence in the regions, but they aren't quite at the top."

Astra nodded slowly, understanding starting to form in his mind.

"The Duke Coin," Odin's voice took on a more imposing tone, "is given to large houses—those with significant power, wealth, and land. They are the forces that shape the destiny of nations. They're the ones that move armies and command kings."

Astra's heart began to race. The thought of possessing something so powerful sent chills down his spine.

"And then there's the Imperial Coin," Odin said, his voice almost reverent. "This coin is reserved for the great houses, those who rule over vast swaths of land, with unimaginable wealth and influence. These houses are the ones who shape the very fabric of reality. They're the ones who can sway entire realms."

Astra felt the gravity of each word, the immense power these coins held.

"However," Odin continued, his tone shifting, "to be granted a Supreme Councilor Coin… that's something else entirely. Those who bear that coin are rank six or seven existences—beings of unimaginable power, beings who transcend mortal limits. Only those who have ascended to the highest echelons of magic can hold such a coin. And their houses are supreme and unmatched, their influence stretching across all realms."

Astra's eyes widened as the realization struck him. The Regal Coin, the Imperial coin he held in his hand was not just a symbol of noble rank—it was a key to an unimaginable power, one that could rival even the most legendary of beings.

"He handed me a fucking imperial coin?!!" Astras thoughts were in disarray,

The dwarf leaned back, a glint of approval in his eyes. "The Divine Council, those supreme beings of rank six and seven, oversee the realms. They sit at the pinnacle of power, governing the very laws of existence. They wield influence over life, death, and everything in between."

Astra's mind reeled, his heart hammering in his chest. He had been given more than just a coin; he had been handed a path to something far greater than he could have ever imagined.

"Understand this," Odin said, his voice low and serious. "The Regal Coins are not just tokens of status. They are the essence of power. And now, Astra, you are bound to one. Your journey is just beginning."

Astra sat there, trying to process everything. His place in the world had shifted, and with it, his very destiny.

Odin then gestured to the coin that Astra still held, the intricate engravings shimmering with ethereal light. "Forged in the ancient forges by celestial smiths, these coins are bound to the soul of the bearer. They cannot be forged, stolen, or destroyed. Their power is absolute, linked to the very essence of the noble houses that hold them."

Astra felt the weight of the coin grow heavier in his palm. The dwarf's words echoed in his ears, each one like a hammer striking an anvil.

"These coins are more than mere status symbols," Odin continued, his eyes glinting with ancient wisdom.

"They are conduits of power, granting their bearer access to the deepest wells of magic. Regal Coins are connected to the Divine Council of the Realms and their archives, a council composed of the highest-ranking beings from the Six Realms—those who hold Rank Six and Seven. Only those who ascend to the pinnacle of power are permitted to sit among them."

Astra's mind spun. "The Divine Council? Six Realms? Rank Six and Seven?" His thoughts stumbled over the weight of the new information.

"Yes," Odin's voice grew more solemn. "The Divine Council oversees the balance of the Six Realms. Those who achieve Rank Six are touched by divinity itself, and those who ascend to Rank Seven hold the power to shape the very fabric of existence. They are beings of unimaginable power, capable of altering the laws of magic, time, and even the realms themselves, beings even I would not dare challenge. Seraphs."

The air around Astra seemed to grow colder, the vastness of this knowledge sinking in. The Regal Coin was not just a symbol of nobility—it was a ticket into the highest echelons of power, a direct link to the gods themselves. It was the beginning of something far greater than he could have ever imagined.

"To hold a Regal Coin is to hold a piece of eternity," Odin said, his voice tinged with both awe and warning. "But be mindful, Astra. The path you walk is fraught with danger. There are those who would kill to possess what you now hold, and there are ancient powers who do not take kindly to those who trespass upon their domain."

Astra nodded slowly, his mind still reeling, but a fire had ignited within him. His magic—his destiny—was no longer his alone. He was connected to something far larger than himself, a part of a tapestry woven by the gods.

"Now," Odin said, his voice commanding, "you must decide how you will wield this power. For the Regal Coin is not just a mark of your heritage—it is a tool, a weapon. And with it, you can shape your destiny. But be warned: the road ahead is dark and uncertain, and those who walk it are forever changed."

Astra's heart thundered in his chest. "I understand."

He looked at the Regal Coin once more, its light shining brighter than before, as if the very stars had gathered to watch his next move.

He was no longer just a street rat with a secret. He held genuine power now.