The Legend of Caelestella

Astar's heart pounded like a war drum in his chest, each beat urging him to run faster, to escape the clutches of his adamant pursuers. Every step sent a jolt of pain through his weary limbs, but he pushed through, driven by the desperation for freedom. With a quick glance over his shoulder, dread seized him as he saw the shadows of his hunters closing in, their figures ominous in the dim light of the corridor. He knew he couldn't afford to falter, he couldn't afford to be caught. Not after all he'd risked to break free.

Summoning every ounce of strength left in his trembling body, Astar's gaze fell upon a glimmer of hope—a faint ray of light slicing through the darkness, promising sanctuary beyond an ancient door. With a primal scream tearing from his throat, he threw himself forward, his shoulder colliding with the ancient wood.

For a heart-stopping moment, the door resisted, mocking his desperate bid for escape. With a groan of protest, it yielded, bursting open like a dam breached by the force of his desperation. Astar stumbled into the alley beyond, the damp air of freedom filling his lungs like a long-awaited reprieve.

Yet, even as relief washed over him, the cacophony of shouts and curses echoed from the corridor behind. The men he had confounded were not so easily thwarted, their anger reverberating through the narrow passageway like a thunderclap.

Astar dared not pause to catch his breath, not with danger still gripping at his heels. He sprinted into the labyrinthine streets beyond. In the shadows of that ancient city, where betrayal lurked in every corner and freedom was but a flickering flame in the darkness, Astar knew that his only hope lay in outrunning the fate that hunted him.

The alleyway smelled of manure and old trash, but Astar didn't care. Light. It flooded this place. The large but cluttered alleyway appeared to be behind stables. He could hear the horses and charmadine mounts as some woke while others ate their feed in the moist dawn. A charmadine, its slender, scaly visage tinged with a delicate hue of pale orange, cautiously protruded from a nearby stall door. Its diminutive, beady eyes fixated on him as he struggled to regain his breath, adding an eerie intensity to the encounter.

Shouts erupted behind him, anger evident in the voices even though Astar could not hear the words spewed from their filthy mouths. Astar panicked and began sprinting through the alley, tripping over one of the many barrels piled in the middle. 

Ahead of him, he saw a bustling market street sprawling with life. He could lose the men there. His legs were tiring, and his lungs ached with every breath, but his freedom was on the line. He would deal with the pain when he wasn't being chased. 

As he neared the end of the alley, his messy, brunette bangs flicked into his eye just as he burst into the market. A young man walked into his path, and they collided.

"Ouch!" Astar exclaimed. As he looked up to confront the man, he was left breathless. In front of him stood a young, striking man, barely older than himself, with snow-white hair and intense purple eyes that locked onto his pale blue ones with a sharp, accusing glare.

"Watch where you're going," hissed the young man. Astar snapped out of the trance and quickly got to his feet, once again stunned, as the man was a head taller than him. 

Suddenly embarrassed, he ducked his pale, freckled face, avoiding the man's gaze.

"You have to help me," Astar pleaded softly. 

"What?" The man asked.

The shouts of Astar's pursuers sounded from a short distance down the alley.

"Please!" Astar yelled. The man sighed.

"What am I getting myself into?" He mumbled as he gently moved Astar behind him, just as the men turned into the market.

'Hey!' The first man shouted. "Give that guy to us, and we'll consider letting you go unharmed."

"That depends on what is more beneficial for me." "Should I give you the boy or take him myself?" Haruki retorted.

Astar inhaled slowly; he didn't like the way this was going. The first of his pursuers scowled and drew a blaster, a firearm that typically replaces lead bullets with a mage's concentrated mana energy. 

"Final warning." He said as he loaded magic into his blaster. The other two men behind him drew a bow and a sword. The white-haired man took off his dark cloak and draped it over Astar's shoulders.

"Wear something warmer," he said before he turned around and drew a small, thin wakizashi blade from one of the two sheaths on his belt. The man with the bow scoffed.

"You're going to fight us with that?" He mocked, pointing at the wakizashi with one of his arrowheads.

The white-haired man smirked. Was it just Astar, or did the guy's shadow seem to swirl underneath him?

"That's enough," a voice from behind him called. Astar turned to find a handsome elven man walking up behind him. He had light teal hair and wore a modified, sleeveless shozoku. This outfit left only his eyes and forehead visible. He also wore long gloves that exposed his shoulders and gentle, slender fingers. "Haruki," the man said, looking up at the white-haired man, "Did I not forbid you from engaging in fights in the market?" "Stop this at once."

Haruki scoffed.

Astar looked at the men who had been chasing him, and they were shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Did you say Haruki?" The man with the sword asked, his voice quivering as he glanced nervously between Haruki and the elven man, hastily sheathing his weapon.

"Let's get out of here," he urged his colleagues, his tone urgent. "These are olympic mages," his voice fell to a whisper then he nodded towards the mark on Haruki's collarbone.

A heavy tension filled the air, with shadows seeming to close in around them. The elven man's eyes sparkled with a dangerous light, and Haruki's demeanour turned menacing.

Astar peeked over Haruki's shoulder and noticed a tattoo below his collarbone, which clearly stood out as the focal point among his numerous tattoos that spiraled down his arm. It resembled an orb with the features of a demon, and just below it was a word, "olympic," written in glorious blue cursive.

Astar gaped. Even he had heard about olympic mages. They were the best of the best. The best mage group from the top guild. He often heard clients in The Society talking about them. The men from The Society grumbled and slowly backed away before quickly fleeing into the alley and through the warped doorway leading to The Society.

Astar released a breath he didn't know he had been holding and slowly crumpled to his knees.

"Are you okay?" Haruki asked him.

Astar mumbled a slight sound of confirmation and stumbled back onto his feet, tripping on the sheet. Haruki quickly shot out his hands and grabbed Astar under his arms to help steady him.

'Woah there, take it easy.'

Astar gratefully accepted his support. He was exhausted and not accustomed to the loud noises from the market.

"Take him back to the olympic." "I'll join you there once our business has been settled," he said. With that, he turned on his heels and strode down the street, observing the stalls, not even sparing a glance back at the two of them.

"What's your name?" Haruki asked 

"Astar," he uttered.

"That's a nice name," Haruki said as he grinned down at Astar. "I'm Haruki." 

"You have a nice name, too, Haruki," Astar replied awkwardly as he brushed the gritty sand off his knees. Haruki grinned boldly over his shoulder as he turned and began to walk with long strides. After a few steps, he came to a halt, turning back around to Astar. "Are you coming?" He asked. Astar nodded and followed Haruki. He couldn't believe his luck.