The golden light of sunset filtered through the rustling leaves of the old elm. Caelum, only five, sat cross-legged in the grass, his little fingers curled around a cup of honey milk still warm. Opposite him sat the old man cloaked in travel-worn robes, silver hair tied back, his eyes stern but soft when they looked at the boy.
Caelum tilted his head curious. "Mister… why do you come here when Papa's not home?"
The old man chuckled quietly. "Because your papa and I don't get along very well. But that's not your fault little one."
"Do you know my papa?" Caelum blinked.
"Better than most" the old man replied with a sadness that hid in his smile.
The boy scooted closer looking up at him. "Tell me a story?"
A pause. Then a nod. "Alright. Just one. But promise me you won't tell your father I visited."
"I promise mister" he said.
"Alright. I trust you my boy" the old man replied.
"It's not a story from books. It's a story from the time before you were born. Of a knight who lost something precious and chased shadows ever since."
"Was he brave?"
"Brave and foolish" the old man said softly staring into the wind. "But sometimes even a fool's heart beats with something true."
A long time ago a knight once the heir of a noble house fell in love not with a duchess or a princess but with Arla a gifted herbalist who healed the wounded in Emberlane's alleys. Their bond wasn't one of duty but of shared scars dreams and quiet kindness.
When he defied his house to marry her he was cast out stripped of lands and title.
But in the warmth of a humble cottage away from the cold walls of nobility a child was born under a rare celestial event the Fall of the Starfire Bloom a phenomenon said to occur only when the heavens watch over a soul of great destiny. As Arla screamed in labor and her husband held her hand with shaking fingers a brilliant light traced across the sky and the midwife whispered, "This child is marked by more than just blood."
They named him Caelum sky for the heavens that watched him arrive and for the wings fate had silently placed on his back.
"My name is Caelum too" the boy said.
"Yes my son" the old man replied with a smile.
"Another story?" Caelum asked.
"No not today my son. But I promise next time I will" the old man replied.
From that evening on the old man came often always when Deron and Arla were away at the market or tending to village folk. He never came to the door never stayed long and never gave his name.
But to Caelum he became the story man a strange visitor with tales that felt far too real and eyes that always looked like they were searching for something he'd lost.
"You came back!" Caelum giggled one day running barefoot through the grass toward the old elm.
The man knelt down opening his arms. "Didn't I promise you another story?"
Caelum nodded eagerly and sat legs tucked under him. "Tell me about the knight again. The one who ran away from the castle because of love."
The old man smiled faintly hiding the ache in his heart. "Ah yes… that knight. He gave up everything " a name a future, even the pride of his father." for a healer with warm hands and a fiercer heart than any noble he'd ever met."
"Did the father ever forgive him?" Caelum asked blinking with wide eyes.
The old man hesitated then softly replied, "He wanted to. Every day. But sometimes pride is a terrible wall to climb."
Every day the old man visited and told a story to Caelum.
"Listen closely Caelum" the old man began eyes gleaming like stardust. "Before our world before Elyndor there was only light. Peace. Joy. Harmony that sang through the heavens. That place was called Aetherion."
"And among its many beings were angels radiant and powerful born of the Creator's light. But one Lucel was unlike the rest. He was called the Angel of Beauty radiant beyond imagination and among the highest in the heavenly order."
Caelum's breath caught. He leaned in.
"But pride crept into his heart child. Lucel began to see himself as greater equal even to the Creator. 'Why follow' he thought 'when I could rule?' He whispered this madness to others sowing doubt. And soon an army of angels followed his prideful path."
"But rebellion against light only births shadow. When they rose up it meant nothing before the Creator's will. Lucel and his followers were cast down falling like lightning from the heavens their grace stripped their glory turned to ash."
"And so was born the First Sin: Pride. And from it spilled the rest Lust Envy Greed Wrath Gluttony and Sloth. The world changed that day. Aetherion mourned. And the Creator looked to us humans to carry the flame of hope."
The old man looked at Caelum now with warmth and certainty.
"That is why my boy we bond with angels. That is why the Rite of Celestara exists. We are the ones chosen to stand against the sins. You may not know it yet but your flame burns bright. And the heavens they are watching."
Caelum said nothing. He was only five years old then. The words floated around his head like stardust in the wind too heavy too ancient for a child to truly grasp. But he remembered the warmth. The fire in the old man's voice. And something rooted itself inside his small heart.
The sun dipped lower casting long shadows across the cottage. Deron returned early from the village the basket of herbs still swinging at his side.
As he passed the old elm he paused. A flicker of movement caught his eye a cloaked figure turning down the hillside path slow but sure.
Something in Deron's chest tightened.
"Caelum" he called gently stepping onto the grass.
The boy turned smiling bits of honey still on his lips. "Papa!"
Deron crouched before him voice quiet. "Who was that just now?"
Caelum blinked. "The mister."
"What mister?"
"The one who tells me stories when you're gone."
Deron's expression hardened. "Did he say his name?"
Caelum hesitated then shook his head. "He said not to tell you."
A pause. Then softer: "He said you don't get along."
Deron's eyes dimmed. He looked past the hilltop toward the place where the man had vanished. The wind rustled the elm's leaves above them.
With a voice filled with years he never spoke of he whispered, "Father… You're the same as before. Always hiding behind stories."
Caelum tilted his head. "Papa?"
But Deron said nothing more. He simply pulled his son into a hug holding him a little tighter than usual.
A year later,
The old man never came again. He was gone, slain in the battle against the sin of wrath. The boy never knew what happened to the old man who told him stories. He might not have understood the stories back then... but he understood one thing: he would become strong and save humanity.
Now, at age thirteen, he stands at the gates of Celestara Academy. The trial awaits. And the war has only begun.
Rows of nobles sat with perfect posture, their robes gleaming with their house crests, as the sacred courtyard pulsed with divine energy. One by one, the candidates stepped onto the radiant platform. The Rite had begun.
First to be chosen: Lyra Valemire, heir of House Valemire bonded to Gabryelle.
Second: Elandor Thal, of House Thal chosen by Raphaien.
Faye Lioren and Darius Vornhart, bearers of Selaphiel and Ragion, had been chosen four years earlier during the early awakening ceremony.
Now, only two angels remained unclaimed. And it was Caelum's turn.
The whispers had already begun.
"What's a commoner doing here?"
"Must be a mistake. No name. No bloodline."
"This should be quick. Probably won't bond at all."
Caelum stepped forward, trying to hide the pounding in his chest. The Guardian Crystal began to glow the moment he placed his hand upon it. It flared with a golden blaze brighter than anything that had come before.
A moment of stunned silence. Then gasps.
"What?!"
"That's... Michaelos!"
"The strongest of the Six!"
The priests scrambled. Nobles stood in disbelief. Some were jealous, others angry. A few, like Faye, looked quietly pleased.
One man even muttered, "The machine must be broken..."
But there was no mistake. The seal of Michaelos the Archangel of Valor had chosen a commoner.
A surge of radiant energy exploded around Caelum. A glowing sigil a sword encased in wings etched itself onto his chest, searing through cloth and skin with no pain, only warmth. The mark of Michaelos, once believed to be lost in legend, now shone on a boy with no name.
And for a fleeting moment, golden wings shimmered behind him massive, divine, and awe-inspiring before vanishing into light. The crowd was silent. Breathless.
Caelum stood frozen. Not in fear but in something deeper. As if something within him had finally awakened.
Then, in the silence of his mind, a voice echoed.
"Rise, flame of man. The heavens have not forgotten."
Whether it was Michaelos or a whisper from his grandfather's soul, Caelum didn't know. But he believed it.
From the edge of the courtyard, Lord Thal narrowed his eyes. "A commoner… chosen by Michaelos? This cannot stand."
The heavens had spoken. And Caelum was ready.
The golden blaze of the ceremony still shimmered faintly in the sky when Caelum stepped out of the academy gates. The marble arch behind him bore the ancient inscription: "Let the Flame of Man Rise, and Heaven Shall Answer."
His feet touched the stone-paved walkway that curved down toward the lower city the place where the nobles never looked. But to Caelum, it was home.
The sun was low now, painting the skies in warm ambers and bruised purples. Doves scattered from old lamp posts as he walked. The air was thick with the scent of fresh bread, charcoal smoke, and distant citrus from the corner orchard stalls. Children laughed as they chased glowing bugs through alleyways, their cheeks smeared with soot and joy. Vendors called out the day's final deals. And yet… people stared.
Some bowed. Others moved aside with eyes wide, whispering.
"that's the boy…"
"Michaelos chose him?"
"glowing wings, they said. Like a god..."
Caelum tried to walk faster, ignoring the sudden reverence. His boots clacked softly against the cobbles, and his cloak too short for his height fluttered behind him like a stubborn flag. His fingers brushed over the fresh mark on his chest, still warm beneath his tunic.
By the time he reached the narrow stone stairs down into the district of Emberlane, the sky was full of stars.
His house was small, sloped, and crooked, with moss climbing up one side and warm golden light glowing through the windows. The wooden door was slightly ajar which always meant his mother had seen him coming.
"CAELUM?!"
Before he could knock, a blur of brown hair and apron flew into him. His mother tackled him with a hug so tight he thought his spine might crack.
"I knew it!" she cried, stepping back just enough to scan his face. "I told your father! Didn't I, Deron? Didn't I say he'd do something big?!"
From inside, a muffled voice groaned. "I thought you meant he'd finally do his chores without setting the barn on fire, Arla!"
Caelum blinked. "That was one time. The goat kicked the oil lamp!"
"You shouldn't have been lighting a lamp near a goat," his father yelled, stomping out of the kitchen holding a ladle like a sword. "The poor beast still flinches at shadows."
His mother slapped his chest. "Don't yell at our chosen son, Deron!"
Their voices overlapped with laughter. And just like that, the tightness in Caelum's chest loosened.
The inside of their home was no palace just three rooms, cluttered shelves, and a ceiling low enough that Caelum had to duck but it was warm. It smelled like stew and burnt spices. On the table lay a half-finished embroidery piece titled "One Day, We'll Shine Too." Caelum stared at it a moment.
His mother cupped his face, eyes full of tears and pride. "You did it, baby. The heavens chose you."
Caelum tried to speak. But nothing came out. His voice cracked instead.
So his father stepped in and slapped a steaming bowl of stew into his hands. "Eat before your angel drags you into another dimension or whatever those winged folk do."
Caelum snorted, taking a bite. It was too spicy as always but it burned just right. His mother squeezed his shoulder and whispered, "Three months, right?"
He nodded. "Until full enrollment."
"Then we train," his father said, already flexing. "Every morning. Cold water. Mountain jog. Goat dodging."
"Dad, no."
"Yes. Builds reflexes. Sins won't see it coming."
His mother just shook her head, smiling. "My idiot boys…"
That night, after they'd gone to sleep, Caelum lay awake under the wooden beams of the roof. He stared at the stars through the cracks.
Three months until Celestara.
Three months until he stepped into a world of blades, prayers, and war.
But tonight... he was home.
And for now, that was enough.