Astashica: Eternal Starborn Dominion

The underground shelter of New Asemeri was never silent. Even at night, the faint hum of energy grids pulsed through the walls, blending with the muffled sounds of distant conversations. The city never truly rested.

Yet tonight, something was different.

Tlandar sat on the edge of his cot, staring at the floor, his thoughts heavy with doubt and frustration. The war was not his. It had never been his.

Then, the power flickered.

The lights overhead pulsed—once, twice—before dimming into a deep, electric hush. The ventilation systems stuttered, the hum of the city's artificial life breaking into erratic bursts.

A low whine filled the room—soft, but persistent.

Then, the air changed.

And a voice, timeless and resonant, called his name.

"Tlandar."

The Astashica Hologram Appears

A woman of light and stardust materialized before him. Her long white hair flowed like a river, cascading down her back, her gown woven from the threads of the cosmos itself. A tiara of celestial brilliance crowned her, and in her right hand, she held the planet Astashica, turning ever so slowly.

Her grey eyes bore into him, ancient and knowing.

Tlandar staggered to his feet, pulse hammering in his ears. "Who—?"

She raised a hand slightly, as if silencing an unspoken question.

"I am the keeper of the Xhalaks. I am the steward of the winds and tides. I am the voice of what was, what is, and what must be. I am the will of Astashica."

Tlandar exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "The Astashica Hologram…"

"You have always known me," she said, tilting her head slightly.

Tlandar backed away a step. "Why are you here?"

Her gaze remained steady.

"Because the door stands before you, and you must walk through it."

A Destiny Refused

Tlandar let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "No. You've got the wrong person."

"You know that is not true," she replied.

"I don't fight," he said firmly. "I'm not a warrior. I don't lead armies. I just—"

"You just wish to be left alone," she finished for him.

He folded his arms. "Yeah. That's exactly what I want."

She studied him for a long moment, then spoke, her voice carrying both warmth and inevitability.

"The storm does not ask if you wish to stand in its path. The river does not seek permission before it breaks its banks. War does not knock on your door to ask if you are willing."

Tlandar scowled. "That's not my problem. I never wanted any of this."

"And that is why you were chosen."

His hands clenched. "Chosen for what?"

She extended the glowing sphere of Astashica toward him, the light casting rippling shadows across the room.

"To protect. To ensure that what I hold does not shatter."

Tlandar narrowed his eyes. "You want a warrior. I'm not that. You should find someone else."

"I seek no warrior. I seek a protector. A guardian."

He shook his head, exasperated. "Protect what? This city? The war?"

Her expression softened, but her words carried undeniable certainty.

"Protect all that remains. Protect those you love. Protect the future yet unwritten."

Tlandar scoffed. "I'm just one person. How do you expect me to do that?"

"You do not see it yet, but you are the stone that will shift the river. You must step forward, or all will be lost."

His breath caught slightly. "Lost?"

She lifted the planet Astashica, turning it slowly. The light dimmed.

And suddenly, the walls of the shelter disappeared.

Visions of the End

Tlandar gasped as his world was torn away.

He stood on the burning Plains of Leipira, where Val'katl's trenches were in flames, bodies strewn across the battlefield.

Above them, the Defiance Vanguard loomed, its cannons glowing ominously.

He turned—New Asemeri, but not as he knew it. The barrier shattered. The towers falling. The people screaming.

His sisters.

Lost. Running.

And then—he saw himself.

Standing in the middle of it all.

Holding Khalzir and Asharuk—Va'katl's twin swords.

A protector.

A leader.

But before he could understand, the vision collapsed, and he was falling—backward, through space, through time—until the vision shifted again.

This time, he saw the end.

The planet itself—Astashica—cracking apart.

Molten fissures spreading across its surface, its continents shattering into dust.

A final, deafening silence before it collapsed in on itself and exploded into nothingness.

Tlandar screamed—

And then, he was back.

The hologram stood before him, her hand still outstretched, the planet Astashica whole once more.

Tlandar gasped for breath, his pulse hammering against his ribs.

"No… no, that's not real," he choked.

The Astashica Hologram watched him, sorrow touching her celestial features.

"It is not yet. But it will be."

The Final Plea

Tlandar forced himself to stand, his breathing heavy. "You're telling me I need to fight."

Her light dimmed slightly, as if in sorrow.

"I ask not for a warrior. I ask for a protector."

His throat went dry. "I don't understand."

She extended her hand slightly, the planet Astashica still turning in her grasp.

"I sustain this world. I am its balance, its breath. I see all, I feel all. But I cannot move as you do. I cannot act in the realm of men."

Her voice softened, but its weight was undeniable.

"That is why I need you."

Tlandar stared at her, realization sinking into his bones.

She wasn't asking for a warrior.

She was asking for a protector.

His voice was hoarse. "And if I refuse?"

Her form flickered, but she did not waver.

"Then you will be given no choice when the storm arrives."

Her eyes bore into him, her voice soft yet absolute.

"Walk through the door, Tlandar. It has already been opened for you."

The power flickered again.

Then—she was gone.

The air returned to stillness.

But nothing was the same.

Alone with the Truth

Tlandar sat heavily on his cot, his hands gripping the edges of the mattress.

The war was not waiting for him.

The war was coming.

And now, he had seen it.

But what could he do?

He wasn't a warrior. He wasn't a leader.

He was just… Tlandar.

Yet the weight of the Astashica Hologram's words pressed down on him like the sky itself.

And no matter how much he wanted to deny it—

He could not forget.