Starfire. Irwyn watched his newly formed Concept, experimentally channeling some magic and seing how it moved. The difference between it and Star were relatively minimal. Their carved lines were almost identical, and both of them were based on Starfire as a tool of primarily destruction and desolation. Irwyn could tell that when he used it, the new Concept was slightly stronger. Maybe… ten percent? Which wasn’t a lot given that magic often operated on exponentials, but it might give him an edge since pretty much all of his spells would likely be based on it to some extent.

  Irwyn did not linger on that any longer, quickly reapplying Constellation of will, as he had to disable the spell for the carving itself. Possibly for the last time in a long while. Unless the Trial forced him otherwise, he did not intend to disable again before achieving a Domain if he could help it - he had spent several days perfectly refining it to the best of his ability after the previous chamber. It was a good way to burn the time until he was ready to carve again.

  With that out of the way though, he felt ready to finally visit the library. It was no coincidence it had appeared when it did, after all. Whether the golem was reading his mind directly or just guessing, a font of knowledge was exactly what Irwyn needed in order to plan out his future Concepts. He had followed Elizabeth’s example for the first, going through several mergers to create a particularly powerful version of Starfire, but the next step was not yet truly clear. Elizabeth’s next would be Perfected Temzdaflesh, which she would create through two mergers again. Except Irwyn lacked the kind of inspiration needed to tread a mirrored path.

  His focus was not his body after all, but in projecting his magic outwardly. In spells massive and equally destructive. He had gotten a hint on the direction in his carving of Star, but the vague idea of ‘desolation’ was not enough to base his future mergers on. The library should be able to give him a better idea for not only the next Concept, but possibly for all of them.

  All he knew was that all nine needed to be vaguely suitable to host a Domain in the future. Which would presumably be STARFIRE for him. Elizabeth had shared she intended TEMZDAFLAME to be her first, since it only made sense. Many mages did exactly the same - picking their own element - for very good reasons. Besides being the most versatile, anyone who had the magical affinity to reach Domains would very likely be close enough to least one element to attract its namesake. Given that Irwyn’s affinities were rather extreme, it was unlikely a better option would become apparent along the way.

  The trouble was building the path there. Irwyn strode around the monolith and approached Elizabeth’s side, intending to invite her along - she should be a few weeks or longer from her next carving and tended to be more educated on any given topic. But as soon as he walked past the curve, he froze in surprise and horror.

  Blood pooled on the ground, Elizabeth lying in it, though more than just blood. Chunks of stained shredded flesh, alongside jagged bone and pieces of whitish brain matter. While her body seemed to be without injury at first glance and her magical dress unstained, that had to be an illusion. There was no non-violent way for the insides to be so on the outside. But what if he was misunderstanding and Elizabeth had everything under control? Though he could not imagine how, disturbing her could potentially make things worse.

  “Oh, Irwyn,” she said before he could decide whether to act. For all his spiraling thoughts, less than a second had passed, so at least she was aware of her surroundings.

  “Are you… fine?” he slowly spoke, because she really didn’t seem like it.

  “No physical harm, just as the guide promised,” she chuckled, covered in her own viscera. “Therefore, I pushed the technique to its limits and took some risks which would otherwise be foolish. My head exploding was certainly a strange experience… both times.”

  “I am glad you are not a fraction as dead as you look,” he finally sighed and shook his head.

  “Ah,” she finally seemed to look around herself. With a surge of magic, the mess disappeared, vanished into the Void. “This is a rather embarrassing state to be seen in. Could you perhaps forget?”

  “That is not an easy to excise sight.”

  “I suppose not. Sorry you had to see that. Time has mostly slipped my mind given the circumstances. I should have kept track better.”

  “Well, you could not have known I would come to talk.”

  “My presumption was that you would come invite me to the library once you finished your next carving,” she shot him a grin. “Was I wrong?”

  “You got me,” Irwyn could only shrug at being read so exactly. “So are you…?”

  “Yes,” she didn’t even let him finish the sentence. “Obviously. It will be a pleasant change of pace from expanding my brain out through the skull.”

  The library was both small and endless. There were no long rows of shelves or several sprawling levels. Because it was not, in essence, a place to store knowledge. It was merely the means by which the Trial gave it out. There was only a large-ish reading room and a small chamber behind a door. When they entered the latter, it would fill with a mix of books, scrolls, and sometimes more unique kinds of scriptures, placed upon two dozen pedestals.

  The trick was, as they figured out, that the books were all related to something that the person who opened the door was thinking about at the time. When that door was closed, the room would seemingly reset, allowing for new tomes to appear. Same volumes could appear again, but if they were removed they would stop doing so - on individual bases, they could each get one if they wanted to. Though sometimes replicating the exact same ‘intent’ while opening the door proved to be difficult. But thinking of the exact title worked, and also showed several related tomes.

  As far as either of them could tell, they were getting exact replicas of books that either existed somewhere or used to exist. Elizabeth tried to confirm this by generating a copy of an unpublished biography of her father that should only exist as a single copy in one of their properties, collecting dust. Irwyn tried to conjure the incomplete ‘Nature of the Named’ he had found in Ebon Respite back in the day, though it appeared that truly incomplete volumes would not appear… there were also two dozen other books with the exact same title from different authors, so maybe it had been merely pushed out of the pool. They did not manage to confirm if books that had been completely censured and destroyed to the last copy could be remade, as they couldn’t think of one despite trying for the sake of curiosity when Elizabeth had the idea.

  After all their experimentation and discussion, Irwyn wound up with several volumes in his hands. Seated and settling in for perhaps days of going through them - even with his accelerated thoughts. The reading room already had a few comfortable armchairs built in unfamiliar style, and Irwyn could also easily conjure any stools or tables he had the need for.

  Among the highlights of his selection were titles like: The complete account of the Great Crusade - which was made up of a dozen thick volumes; The nature of Stars - about ten books with the exact same name; The Book of the Name - likely the exact same as Irwyn already possessed, but he wanted to compare; Desolation, a testimony; Shifting of Edicts - because he remembered his vision about Stars; The only War - because Elizabeth suggested it and took a copy herself; and a few more miscellaneous ones that were more interesting than educational. He would likely pick up more later, but that was his repertoire for the moment.

  Elizabeth also had a thick pile. Although she had much more concrete plans when it came to her Concepts, she was completely willing to learn more and perhaps adjust to something even more suitable. Or maybe look beyond. They couldn’t manifest books explicitly about claiming Domains or reaching higher still, but they could get pretty close or just find volumes that briefly touched on such as a side topic - anything short of a guide seemed to be acceptable, which was good enough leeway to snatch some secrets.

  Although while Irwyn was preparing to delve in, Elizabeth instead chose to go explore the ‘feast hall’. Irwyn was not hungry as the Trial still repressed all their physical needs and told her as much. To which she just shrugged, decided it was fine to ‘indulge gluttony’ and left, promising to be back soon with snacks.

  Irwyn started with The Nature of Stars as what he wanted first and foremost was the inspiration for his next Concepts. The first step was actually sorting which of the books were drivel and which contained actual relevant information. While there was something admirable about a completely mundane astronomer recording celestial movements over their lifetime, it provided Irwyn with little help. Same went for the collection of atrocious poetry and several novels. Yet one of them, Irwyn was happy to find, happened to be exactly what he had been looking for.

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  The author claimed to be one the few remaining Sol. Though the term was not explained in the book, Irwyn immediately recalled it. A wandering Star, striding in between Realms, settling for perhaps eons at a time before moving on. He had seen one in his very first vision, though he doubted they were the very same being as the author. But just the knowledge of the term lent credence. If this claim was true, it would certainly give weight to anything written within. And as he read, he was inclined to believe.

  In the first chapter, the author basically separated Stars and anything involving them into two categories. The first were the ‘caretakers’. Kind Empyreans, existing in Lumen’s image. Accepting of all beings who took shelter beneath their gazes. In Realms overlooked by such, their heat would never scorch. Crops would never wither to droughts, and gazing upon the Sun could never blind. Once upon a time, predating the Great Crusade and the death of Aspects just before it, they were the vast majority. Afterward, only precious few had remained - and fewer still had survived since, as Liches abused that kindness to bring upon them death.

  The second were the destructive ones. Not just Desolation towards which Irwyn leaned, but many and any kinds of destruction. Those who followed in the Son’s image, accepting that there was only a single path left to tread. Warmongering, grieving. That gave Irwyn a pause. He had to read between the lines a bit, but he had additional context from his visions. While the author did not specify explicitly how tendency for havoc came to be, Irwyn knew. He had seen it. Felt it.

  That isolated kingdom of necromancers during the Great Crusade that had pushed the sorrowful Son of Light and Flame over the edge. It was still hard to think of that avatar of destruction as ‘himself’, so Irwyn analyzed it with more detachment. There had been a shift then. The Edict of Stars had changed, turning from a tool of creation to one of destruction. But he had not truly considered the consequences of that before.

  The Edict had, seemingly, been the source from which Stars were born, created as empty vessels for newborn Souls to fill. But without that Edict, how did that process change? What alternative was used? Irwyn skipped a bit ahead in the book, looking for an answer as his curiosity surged. Skimming a few sections, he eventually found what he was looking for.

  Ever since the Great Crusade, no new stars have been born. The author avoided the why, leaving only that statement. Irwyn could only stare in shock and re-read the line several times. They had not found a different way. The sheer implications of that struck Irwyn mute. How many were there if he looked up upon the night sky? Many. A countless myriad… and too few. Because they could die.

  Their own Realm used to have two Stars shining from above. Perhaps one has merely left at some point… or it might have been killed. Irwyn did not properly understand how powerful each Empyrean was or how arduous the process of solaricide might be, but there was no doubt in his mind that there would be a way. Even the Aspects had perished, what were mere Stars?

  And if they could die but not replenished their numbers, that meant that the Empyreans were dying out. As ever, the undead fought a war of attrition across the eons. Even if the murder of each took a millennium on average, every last one was irreplaceable. Across all of eternity, there would eventually be none left. And without their Suns, what would the Realms come to?

  Irwyn couldn’t even properly contemplate what civilization would look like without a source of light and warmth overhead. Agriculture would mostly vanish, only possible to maintain with exceptional Life mages. The world would grow so very cold, dark. Perhaps a select few would thrive, but any way he thought about it, mortal populations would rapidly diminish. Fewer people meant less manpower, reduced pool of talent. Fewer bodies to throw against the undead.

  An apocalyptic scenario… Irwyn was beginning to wonder whether any worlds might have already succumbed to it. Populations broken and devoured by the Rot, leaving at most a last few bastions by the likes of House Blackburg that could likely adapt to those grim conditions, only to still inevitably succumb in due time. It made a shiver run down his spine, because the real question was likely not if, but how many.

  He sighed and shook his head. Needlessly morbid thoughts and not even helpful for his current pursuit. He returned to the earlier sections. Warmongering, grieving. The quote that had set off his internal spiral. It… resonated in a way. Yet not quite with Irwyn. He did not have that much to grieve, neither was the call to war intense within him. Sure, the more he learned the more he understood that fighting the Rot was an unavoidable duty, but it wasn’t something he relished or thrived in. But in the past he had, and it was that previous life that whispered of those things. Irwyn did to those thoughts what he did to the Name itself - pretended they weren’t there until they faded from proper awareness.

  Irwyn read further, getting past much flowery language that did not show him much. Or maybe just things that weren’t immediately relevant. Sure, it was interesting that all Stars had an innate hate for the undead - almost certainly inherited from their originator - or to learn more about the social dynamics between Sols and Stars, but nothing he found really spoke to him as a foundation for his Concepts.

  The closest thing was a snippet about how some Stars could lean on ‘unreachability’. Afterall, they didn’t just hang overhead. There was more to it than that, since they very much had the ability to descent or create a magical avatar on the surface of Realms, but that was perhaps the subject of a different book. The boundary of the firmament was not something Irwyn often thought about… but once he did, it bore inspiration.

  The separation was, in a way, a barrier. Sure, the unreachability was born from both the sheer distance and the fundamental separation between a Realm and the beyond - which Irwyn didn’t actually quite understand - but there was potential there. Irwyn liked his barriers after all. And since each Concept appeared to be best specialized for a different task, it was appealing.

  But not for his very next. It was better to get any more mergers done early rather later. He would definitely discuss the idea with Elizabeth just in case it would be a massive blunder, but it sounded like a good fit. He still needed to figure out his second before then anyway. Ideally something offensive. While his Starfire also leaned that way, it was ultimately a very versatile Concept by its very nature. So he picked up Desolation, a testimony.

  It was a scroll, actually. Placed inside a metal tube with the title etched into the surface, seemingly by hand. Irwyn struggled for a while with a way of opening the case, then eventually gave up as there didn’t even seem to be one. Instead, he carefully burned one edge of with a hairline string of Starfire. The document within was not even proper paper, but instead a leather canvas, painted upon with sharp handwriting. There was only a short passage anyhow, taking up a minority of the surface area. It read:

  I testify to my failings and my guilt.

  Naught will thrive where I strode, just dust and rot. I am an evil of my own making, a thief of hope. Ravager of dreams, glutton of better tomorrows. The fool with nine ears, each more deaf than the last. A blind seer. He who should have never led, yet was followed unto the very end. This, I admit.

  Ignorance does not absolve. Blame must be borne, yet no others stand to share its weight. I was not the only one who mistook the putrid whispers for Truth. I was not the only one with death’s velvet put over my pupils. I am the only one left to write this warning and epitaph.

  If something of the Aspects yet remains, may they decree a verdict just and shatter me where this devil dares linger. If not, then I shall add judgment’s burden along the others. Yes, nothing new will rise in my wake, yet I can destroy again. My faults cannot be redeemed nor undone, but they can be inflicted.

  As the heavens fell upon my people, so they shall again. To the dead, DESOLATION

  Irwyn reeled slightly at the last word, his heartbeat accelerating. It was just a word, yet unto it was imprinted something greater. Not just emotion, but a glimpse of power fundamental to the author. A projection of himself, scribed down in a moment of great emotion. Irwyn wasn’t sure whether it was Domain or Truth that the author had possessed, but it was certainly more than a mere Concept.

  It was also a different point of view than his starting point. Irwyn had seen ‘desolation’ as an extension of the destructive powers that the Stars held. This person instead seemed to practice it in isolation - a pure power of destruction, independent of any element. While not directly helpful, it allowed for a different insight.

  Irwyn could not afford to forget that while some notions adhered to specific elements, others were far more fluid. The Sins were intricately linked to the Void, Wrath among them. Yet Anger and Fury could be much more universal, likely possible to interpret under most of the elements. In a roundabout way, that also made his task easier.

  Since the connotation of Desolation was not exceedingly rigid, Irwyn could interpret it however he wanted. The rules of merging a Concept were as simple as ‘all parts must be roughly equal’, which meant he had a lot of leeway on how he included that. The link to Empyreans was already solid enough to make it roughly equal.

  His next Concept would have to include Star again as a component. It simply made too much sense to lean a bit into his best affinity whenever it was feasible. Then Desolation would be his second. Something like Desolate Stars would probably work… but Irwyn wasn’t happy with that. It would mean being immediately outshone by Elizabeth, loosing out on a triple merger for what would likely be his primary source of offensive power until Domains.

  He glanced at the scroll again, then it struck him, making him re-read a sentence out loud. “As the heavens fell upon my people, so they shall again”, swearing vengeance against the Rot - for all the author did not use that exact title. Irwyn had done that before though, hadn’t he? Even made it a spell. On the Rot, the skies shall fall. Why not lean into that? The weight was there, falling stars were a thing that happened - even if that was clearly a misinterpretation by common people. The image resonated with him. Irwyn smiled, an idea forming in his rapid mind. The paths of the carvings and their mergers, all cumulating in exactly what he wanted:

  “Desolate Starfall”

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