the inner court did not immediately recover its sounds.
The obsidian floor still retained a faint residual warmth, like a kind of breath that had yet to dissipate.
The silver-blue afterglow left behind by the retreating light veins slowly dimmed between the cracks of the stone slabs, thread by thread, like the last wisps of smoke scattered by the wind. In the air lingered that oppressive feeling of having been “watched.” Though the gaze had withdrawn, its weight had not entirely left.
The priests stood where they were, unmoving.
Their deep blue robes swayed slightly in the morning breeze, yet no one dared take the first step.
As if even the slightest movement would tread upon the still-unclosed edge of the divine domain, disturbing the lingering resonance of the two chief gods who had just departed.
The guiding needle lay quietly at the center of the stone floor.
No longer vibrating.
No longer pointing anywhere.
Its body reflected the morning light, yet appeared unnaturally cold—like a sword that had completed its duty, but no longer knew where it should point.
Ryan was the first to come back to himself.
He bent down and picked up the guiding needle. When his fingertips touched it, they trembled slightly—this was not residual heat, but a fine resonance still running through the needle itself, as though savoring the dual wills it had just borne. He checked the balance markings: the pointer was steady, without the slightest deviation.
He straightened and looked toward Ilis.
Ilis’s gaze fell upon the center of the formation.
Upon Ian, still half-kneeling.
Upon Lorn, who was holding him tightly.
In her blue-gray eyes there were no tears, no joy—only an exceedingly deep calm, almost to the point of overflowing. It was not relief, but what remained after pressing all emotions into the deepest place.
She was silent for a moment.
Then she stepped forward.
Her silver-white robes brushed the ground with the faintest sound, like wind skimming over water.
She stood at the very center of the inner court. Her voice was not loud, yet the entire space received it.
“The Invocation Rite is complete.”
There was no cheering.
No congratulations.
The priests all bowed their heads at once, performing the most formal salute—right hands pressed to the Starcrown insignia on their chests, bodies inclining slightly, their movements so synchronized it was as if pulled by a single thread.
Ilis continued to proclaim, her tone returning to the cadence of the church’s canon—clear, precise, emotionless, like reading from a dossier long since written.
“Ian Starcrown.”
She spoke his full name; her voice echoed faintly in the air.
“The Earth God Mokai… and the Underworld God Hek have responded. The revelation is hereby confirmed: you have become a Tavara.”
She paused for a brief instant, letting the words settle in the space.
Then her gaze shifted to Lorn.
“Lorn Starcrown.”
“The Sky God Vali has responded. The revelation is hereby confirmed: you have become a Tavara.”
The final word fell.
The air of the inner court seemed to be struck by an invisible bell.
Low.
Long.
The reverberation collided again and again among the stone slabs, yet did not disperse—rather, it was as though absorbed by something, layering upon itself.
The first priest lifted his head, his voice somewhat dry.
“Twins… receiving responses at the same time.”
He paused, as if confirming what he had just said.
“And both becoming Fanaki (Revelations).”
The second priest still had his hand on the Sacred Echo Stone. Upon its surface now floated two sigils: on one side an eight-pointed star (Vali), on the other overlapping strata of rock and withered bones (Mokai and Hek).
The two sigils lit up simultaneously, then dimmed together, as if acknowledging each other’s existence.
The third priest finally spoke, his voice so low it was almost inaudible.
“This… is unprecedented grace.”
Ilis did not respond.
Her gaze returned once more to the two children.
Ian was still half-kneeling, his hands tightly held by Lorn. His shoulders trembled slightly. Lorn’s forehead rested against his shoulder; his breathing was steady, yet carried a trace of fatigue that was hard to notice.
Ilis took two steps forward.
She knelt down and reached out, gently brushing her hand over the tops of the two children’s heads.
Her fingers were cold.
Yet her touch was so gentle it was as if she meant to gather them up entirely.
“You… you both did it.”
Her voice was very soft, as though she were speaking to herself.
“You were both wonderful.”
Ian looked up.
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There was a sheen of tears in his blue eyes, but they did not fall.
“Mother…” His voice was hoarse. “I… I saw two paths.”
“But… they pinned me in between.”
Ilis’s hand trembled slightly.
She did not answer—she only drew both children into her embrace.
The silver stars on her cloak shimmered in the morning light, as though responding to something.
Ryan stood not far away.
He did not step forward.
He simply watched the scene in silence.
His fingers still gripped the guiding needle.
He knew that this rite had come to an end.
The morning mist gradually dispersed.
The lights of the Twin Towers of the North Wind were rekindled.
From afar came the tolling bells of Valian City.
Long.
Low.
______________
Three days after the summoning ritual ended, the House of Starcrown entered a state of seclusion.
Outsiders only knew that “the twins received a response at the same time,” but they had no idea how abnormal this response truly was.
The Church’s monitoring priests came to report in every day—ostensibly to “offer guidance,” but in reality to “verify.” Extra guards were stationed at the family’s side gate; the wind-bell flowers in the inner courtyard were temporarily removed; even the servants lightened their footsteps as they moved about.
On the morning of the third day, Instructor Ryan led Lorne and Ian into the depths of the family estate, to an underground training ground.
This training ground lay at the very bottom of the manor. Its entrance was hidden behind the rear wall of the library tower and could only be opened by touching a mechanism with a specific Starcrown insignia.
Down seventy-two stone steps, the air gradually grew damp and cold. Luminous coral fragments were embedded in the walls, emitting a dim blue glow, like the breathing of the deep sea.
The training ground itself was a circular stone chamber, about thirty paces in diameter.
The walls were carved with the most ancient protective runes, and at the center lay a pure obsidian disk ten paces across, its surface so smooth it could reflect a person’s image.
Ryan closed the stone door.
The instant it sealed shut, all outside sounds vanished, leaving only the breathing of the three of them.
He turned and looked at the two children.
Ian’s robe collar was inexplicably neat. His silver-white short hair stuck up messily, and his blue eyes were filled with a mix of excitement and unease. Lorne’s robe was fastened properly, his cuffs lying flat.
Ryan did not speak immediately.
He walked to the edge of the obsidian disk, crouched down, and lightly touched its surface.
A faint ring of silvery-blue light pulsed across the disk, like ripples stirred on water by a tossed stone.
“From today onward,” his voice low and clear, “we will no longer practice ‘Karashia.’”
Ian blinked.
“Shouldn’t we… start with the Call first?”
Ryan shook his head.
“You’ve already passed that stage.”
He stood up, his gaze settling first on Lorne.
“Lorne, you were directly revealed to by Vali, skipping the Call phase and entering Fanaki outright. This means your Araki channel was forcibly opened from the very beginning—and personally stabilized by Him.”
He turned to Ian.
“Ian, you were answered by both Mokai and Heg at the same time.
Two paths were forcibly overlapped. This isn’t standard Fanaki; it’s… rarer than that. Both of you are already standing at a place most people could never reach in an entire lifetime.”
Ian’s fist tightened slightly.
“Then… what do we do now?”
Ryan stepped to the center of the disk.
“First, you must learn to hear your own Araki.”
He raised his right hand, palm up.
An extremely fine silvery-blue thread of light rose from his palm, like a floating filament, slowly rotating.
“The Karashia stage was meant to have you call again and again until the channel stabilized, until the flow of Araki became perceptible and controllable.”
The thread of light looped once around his fingertips, then slowly withdrew.
“But you’ve already skipped that stage. The problem now isn’t how to open it, but how to keep it from spiraling out of control.”
He looked at Lorne.
“Lorne, your channel was stabilized by Vali Himself, but He gave you a Tapu—‘brothers and family are the foundation of order.’ This taboo will forcibly pull back your power if you attempt to harm or betray Ian, and may even cause backlash.”
Lorne lowered his head, looking at the eight-pointed star mark on his chest. It was hidden beneath his collar, yet it seemed to be gently warming.
“If I… accidentally violate it?”
Ryan’s expression darkened.
“You will feel pain. Extreme pain. Not physical pain, but the pain of your cognition and will being forcibly twisted—like someone tearing your understanding apart piece by piece.”
He turned to Ian.
“Your Tapu is more complicated.”
“Mokai’s taboo: you must not proactively harm or betray Lorne, unless he consents or strikes first; if Lorne is in mortal danger, you must protect him.”
Ian’s shoulders trembled slightly.
“Then… what about Heg?”
Ryan’s voice dropped a little lower.
“Heg’s taboo: when you encounter ‘undead beings’—anything that unnaturally prolongs life, the undead, aberrations—you must do your utmost to end them. If you deliberately let them go or help them continue to exist, you will be violating the Tapu.”
Ian froze.
“Undead… beings?”
Ryan nodded.
“This taboo will forcibly trigger the moment you see them. You’ll feel a kind of… ‘must end it’ impulse. Impossible to ignore. Impossible to turn away from.”
Ian lowered his head, staring at his hands.
Faint, heavy striations like layers of rock traced his left palm, while his right bore pale, straight etchings.
The stone chamber fell into a brief silence.
Ryan walked back to the edge of the obsidian disk, which lit up once more.
“Now,” he said, “we’ll start with the most basic thing.”
“Close your eyes.”
“Don’t think about summoning power.”
“Listen to it.”
“Araki has always been within you; you’re just not used to its presence yet.”
Ian and Lorne closed their eyes at the same time.
Ryan’s voice continued, guiding them, reminding them.
“Imagine a thin thread in your chest.”
“It’s very fine, but very steady.”
“Don’t pull it.”
“Just… breathe with it.”
Lorne felt it first.
The eight-pointed star mark on his chest began to warm slightly.
Not a burning pain, but like a star slowly turning.
He saw the afterimage of the “Path of Star and Thunder.”
Not a complete road, but countless tiny silver-white arcs of electricity flowing through him, like a compressed river of lightning.
He didn’t try to grasp it.
He simply “heard” it.
He heard that sound—the sound of the sky—
a vastness in which all things could find their place.
Ian’s sensation came later, and far more chaotically.
His left hand heated up first, as if countless roots were driving from his palm into flesh and blood, extending inward.
His right hand throbbed with icy pain, like innumerable fine needles carving boundaries into bone.
The two forces surged forth at the same time—and pushed against each other.
He felt his chest being torn apart.
Like two hands pulling at his heart, one to the left, one to the right.
“Relax,” Ryan’s voice sounded just in time. “Don’t resist them.”
“Let them flow.”
“They’re not enemies.”
“They’re a part of you.”
Ian clenched his teeth.
He tried not to resist.
The power of earth in his left hand began to expand, like roots spreading through his body—heavy, gentle, encompassing.
The power of death in his right hand began to converge, like boundaries being etched layer by layer—cold, precise, final.
The two forces no longer collided.
Instead, they met in his chest.
Like two rivers merging into the same lake.
Ian’s breathing gradually steadied.
He opened his eyes.
The patterns on his palms were still faintly glowing.
But it no longer hurt.
It was just… heavy.
And cold.
Ryan stepped forward.
He crouched down to meet the two children at eye level.
“What you’re feeling now is the true state of Fanaki.”
“They’re already inside you.”
“What you need to learn next isn’t how to use them.”
“But how to coexist with them.”
“Because they… will never leave you… unless…”
The lights in the stone chamber flickered.
The shadows of the two children stretched long across the obsidian floor.
Like two paths destined to intertwine.
And like two taboos that could never be completely separated.
Ryan stood up.
“That’s enough for today.”
“Go back and rest.”
“Tomorrow, we begin real training.”
“—Try not to get yourselves killed before then.”
He turned and walked toward the stone door.
Leaving the two children behind.
They looked at each other.
Ian suddenly smiled, a bit stiffly.
“Lorne…”
“From now on… the two of us are going to have to be careful.”
Lorne looked at him.
Nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Careful. Together.”
The stone door closed.
The underground training ground fell into silence.
Leaving only the sound of two children breathing.
Name: Fanaki
Etymology: Derived from variants of "fana / whānau" in Māori and Hawaiian linguistic families, meaning "to manifest," "to be born," "to be revealed," or "to emerge from concealment."
Definition: Fanaki is the second stage of the Tavara System, as well as its most enduring and boundless phase. It is no longer a finite, terminal path like the Karahia stage. From the moment one receives the Fiafia (The Seal of Revelation), the very shape of one’s destiny is irrevocably altered.
1. Anchor
- ?Stage Characteristics: For a practitioner who has just entered the Fanaki, the soul exists in a perilous state of "over-expansion." Divinity floods in like a deluge; without a physical medium to ground it, the practitioner’s self-awareness risks being swept away and scattered across the infinite crossroads of the divine mind.
- ?Objective: To find or forge a medium—an Anchor—to tether the surging divinity to the material world.
2. Vessel
- ?Stage Characteristics: The practitioner no longer relies solely on an external Anchor. Instead, they begin to transmute their own flesh, blood, and spirit to serve as a "Vessel" for the divine essence. The mortal coil is restructured to harmonize with the celestial Araki.
3. True Manifest
- ?Stage Characteristics: The apex of the Fanaki stage. The practitioner no longer merely "borrows" power but becomes the "Manifestation" of that power itself within the mortal realm. At this zenith, the boundary between the mortal and the divine origin blurs, and the practitioner becomes the living embodiment of the god’s will on earth.