ASTREYA
The screen shimmered into existence—spiraling out from a central bloom of violet light, like petals unfurling across her vision. Delicate vines of glowing script curled across the frame, pulsing faintly in time with her thoughts.
[DOMAIN OVERVIEW]
› Domain Rank: 0
› Current Contractors: 0 / 1
› Celestial Credits: 980
[OFFER CONTRACT]
› Cost: Unknown
[GRANT AUTHORITY]
› Cost: Variable
[SPONSOR]
› Cost: Variable
Warning: Exceeding current balance may result in automatic Bankruptcy Filing.
Astreya blinked. "Excuse me—bankruptcy?"
The orb beside her pulsed once, as if clearing its throat.
"Filing for Celestial Bankruptcy," it clarified.
"A Constellation in negative balance is subject to restriction of influence, domain lockdown, and asset repossession."
She stared at the floating interface, then at her modest domain. "Wait—repossession? Of what? My sun? My trees?"
"If they are worth anything," the orb replied serenely, "then yes."
A wry sigh slipped out as she rubbed at her temple, squinting at the cheerfully threatening text. "So basically… contracts are long-term leases. Sponsorships are... divine microtransactions."
"An apt comparison," the orb said, sounding far too pleased with itself.
Her little sun flickered innocently overhead. The trees she'd painstakingly sculpted swayed in a breeze she hadn't coded. Suddenly, it all looked suspiciously... mortgageable.
She folded her arms. "So if I screw up and overextend my generosity, what—some celestial repo squad comes knocking?"
"Only if your contributions lack measurable return."
"Ah. So charity and performance anxiety."
She sighed. "Still no actual prices? Do I just... wing it and hope I don't accidentally liquidate myself?"
"A flexible economy encourages thoughtful investment," it said. "And discourages reckless fire-sales of power to unremarkable mortals."
"Great. So sponsoring someone weak is cheap, but sponsoring someone promising—or dangerously epic—drains my wallet?"
"In many cases, yes."
"And Authority?"
"More expensive. Permanently granted power draws heavily from your credits. The stronger the Authority, the higher the cost—and the more charges you grant, the more you'll owe."
She exhaled, slowly. "So I could give some nobody a spark of divine might for a few credits... or bankrupt myself crowning the next apocalyptic hero."
"Now you're getting it."
She gave the glowing interface a sideways glance. "And let me guess—Contractors are worse?"
"They are not 'worse.' They are long-term strategic assets, tethered to your domain. The number you can maintain scales with Domain Rank. Their success reflects directly on you."
"In other words, high-risk high-return portfolio investments," she muttered. "Amazing. I've become a hedge fund."
-
EARTH
Night. A warehouse somewhere forgotten.
The floor was concrete. The air reeked of bleach and old blood.
The ceiling flickered with a dying lightbulb that hadn't worked right in days—buzzing, whining.
She didn't remember how long she'd been here.
At first, she tried. By the meals. The kicks. The comings and goings of boots and curses. But they stopped feeding her on a schedule. Then they stopped feeding her at all.
Her wrists were raw beneath the zip ties. Her knees throbbed where bone met cement.
The gag in her mouth was soaked with salt, spit, and the dull taste of iron.
She didn't know why they took her. She didn't care anymore.
[System Notification]
A Constellation has taken interest in you.
["The Blood-Smeared Sun" seeks to form a Contract]
She stared at the floating text through swollen eyes. The words wavered, maybe from tears, maybe from the concussion.
A contract. With what? The hallucination had a name—"The Blood-Smeared Sun." Even in her delirium, it sounded ominous.
[Accept Contract?]
[YES] [NO]
Her bound hands twitched. She couldn't move her fingers enough to touch anything, but somehow—the interface responded to her thoughts.
Anything. Anything was better than this.
[YES]
-
[System Notification]
[Contract Accepted.]
› You have formed a Binding Pact with: The Blood-Smeared Sun.
› Authority Granted: Rite of the Sun-Eater
[You may now issue: Heart Offering | Charges Remaining: 1]
[Sponsorship Granted: Ceremonial Weapon]
› Item Received: Tecpatl of the Sun-Eater
› Description: A jagged obsidian blade, forged in divine fire and ritual blood. Used to extract offerings.
The air in the warehouse changed.
Not like a breeze—more like the breath of something watching. The system text faded, and in its place, a shape hovered midair, spinning slowly, unnaturally.
The blade.
Obsidian, dark as a bloodless sky, serrated by ritual age. Its edges shimmered—not with light, but with remembered heat, like every sacrifice it had ever tasted still lingered in its core.
It dropped.
Her bound hands didn't catch it.
It caught her.
The tecpatl vanished, reappearing in her grip as if it had been waiting in her bones all along. The zip ties melted away—no fire, no struggle. Just surrender. Like the world had agreed her bindings were no longer valid.
Her fingers flexed around the hilt.
She could feel it. The hum of the blade, like sunlight filtered through blood. It pulsed once with heat—then again, in rhythm with her own heart.
The pain faded.
Not all of it. Her ribs still ached. Her lips were split and bleeding. But the despair, the weight of it—that cracked and peeled away, sloughing off like dead skin beneath the pressure of something older, something hungry.
She stood.
Somewhere behind the rusted shelving, she heard footsteps. A voice. Laughter. One of them was coming back.
She turned toward the sound.
Her first steps were uneven. She was starving, dehydrated, half-dead. But the weapon steadied her. Guided her. She didn't need strength—not yet.
The door creaked open.
He stepped inside, chewing on something. Didn't even look up.
Until the blade was against his chest.
The obsidian flared—not with light, but with heat. With purpose.
[Heart Offering: Initiated]
› Target: Valid.
› Status: Heart—Beating.
› Divine Protocol: Fulfilled.
› Commencing Ritual Extraction…
Her hands moved on instinct, or maybe not hers at all.
He barely had time to scream.
The blade pierced flesh like it remembered how. A single stroke—no hesitation, no drag, no mercy. His body arched, locked in some sacred geometry of pain, and then collapsed. The heart came free, steaming and whole, cradled in divine fire.
She lifted it high.
[Heart Offering Complete.]
[Blessing of the Sun-Eater: Active]
› Power Surge: Duration | 10 minutes
The heart dissolved like ash on the wind.
She exhaled. Her bones no longer ached. Her wounds were gone.
She was still starving. Still trembling.
But she wasn't weak.
Not anymore.