Lunch was held in the Starcrown family’s dining room. The room wasn’t large, but it was filled with light. The curtains softly filtered the sunlight, letting it fall across the white marble table and cast a faint bluish sheen. Silver cutlery was neatly arranged, and the ceramic plates bore the family crest—a spiral conch interwoven with starlight. The air carried a blend of sea salt, herbs, and the warm scent of freshly baked bread.

  Iris Starcrown sat at the head of the table. Her silver-white hair was loosely pinned, small sapphire earrings glinting at her ears in the sunlight. She looked at the two children, her gaze gentle yet appraising. Ian sat to her right, Lorne to her left. Ryan sat opposite Iris, posture upright, as if observing a chessboard where no pieces had yet been moved.

  “What books did you find in the library today?” Iris asked. Her tone was even, carrying the subtle attentiveness unique to a mother.

  Ian immediately raised Green Valley Agronomy. “I borrowed this. I want to preview Green Valley’s culture before afternoon class.” His voice was crisp and decisive, eyes flicking between his mother and Ryan, as if checking for approval.

  Lorne hugged the thick book to his chest and said nothing. His fingers traced lightly along the spine, as though conversing privately with the book rather than preparing an answer. His gaze drifted occasionally toward the window—not toward the garden outside, but toward Tavara symbols and Araki’s threads rising in his mind. Iris noticed but only gave a slight nod and did not press.

  Ryan spoke, his voice gentle and steady. “After lunch, we’ll discuss something important. About your summoning ritual.”

  Ian straightened at once, eyes lighting up. “Teacher, can we really start learning it?”

  “Yes, but first you need to understand the basic principles.” Ryan lifted a hand, signaling them to take their food. On the table were hot soup, pan-seared fish, bread spread with blueberry jam, and roasted vegetables. Ian quickly picked up a spoon, ladling an even portion with practiced ease. Lorne reached out slowly, first inhaling the soup’s aroma before taking small sips, his expression like someone deciphering a text.

  Iris said softly, “Lorne, don’t stare at your book the whole time. It’ll upset your digestion.”

  Lorne looked up and smiled faintly, acknowledging his mother’s reminder.

  Ian chuckled and lightly poked the back of Lorne’s hand. “So slow.”

  Ryan took a sip of tea and said evenly, “Allocating attention is important. Ian, your efficiency is impressive, but don’t forget to observe the details. Lorne, your contemplation runs deep, but don’t let thinking obstruct action.”

  Ian glanced at Lorne with a grin. Lorne only shrugged slightly, his hand still gripping the book’s corner.

  Halfway through the meal, Iris spread her napkin over her lap, her tone softening. “This afternoon, your teacher will show you Tavara’s symbols and methods of summoning. Remember—your choices are what matter.”

  Lorne’s fingers tightened ever so slightly, his heart tugged as if by invisible threads. Ian looked openly excited, his eyes shining like the sunlight spilling through the window.

  Ryan nodded slightly and continued in his calm voice. “You don’t need to rush. Understanding each step is more important than finishing quickly.” He looked at both of them.

  After the meal, the four left the dining table and went to the Starcrown family study. The room was tall and narrow, its ceiling draped with a thin veil of pearlscale silk. Light streamed through the windows onto the gray-white stone floor, reflecting a faint blue glow. Four star charts and the family crest hung on the walls, emitting subtle Mana fluctuations. Ryan unrolled a large scroll in the center of the room. Ian and Lorne sat on either side, while Iris stood by the window, her gaze gentle.

  “Today, we’re going to talk about—your first summoning,” Ryan said, his tone steady, as though guiding two children across an unknown river. “This is the first major node in the Tavara system. You’re eight years old—the right age to perform a wide-range summoning.”

  Ian sat up straighter, eyes shining. “Wide-range summoning is… the first time we can sense the gods?”

  “Correct,” Ryan smiled. “But you need to understand—this is not the moment when you ‘choose a god.’ The gods are observing you, judging whether you’re worth noticing. Your call must remain clean, your soul pure. That’s the meaning of this age.”

  Lorne lowered his head, fingertips unconsciously rubbing the book’s corner again. In his mind rose the image of the thick Introduction to Tavara, dragonfly wings fluttering softly in his thoughts. Doubts from his previous life lingered, and he couldn’t help asking himself: if gods truly exist, would they care about someone like him?

  Ryan sensed Lorne’s distraction and softened his tone. “In the first summoning, you’ll be given four symbolic objects. Three are fixed—” He pointed to three symbols on the scroll. “Vali, God of the Sky; Mokai, God of the Earth; and Hake, God of the Underworld. These three are commonly called the Three Principal Gods.”

  Ian’s eyes widened. “Does everyone hear their divine will?”

  Ryan nodded slightly. “Most people receive a response from at least one god. The fourth symbolic object is a non-principal one, provided by the Church, a family, or special circumstances. It may point to an established god, or guide you toward an unclaimed divine role—conceptual divinity not directly chosen by any god.”

  Lorne slowly lifted his head, his fingers going still. He looked at the symbols on the scroll, his thoughts drifting to the ‘Echo Bearers’ described in books—those who never entered the Companion Stage, whose power was weak and unstable, most of them eventually spent and consumed.

  “Your call will receive different levels of response,” Ryan continued, his voice steady, like storytelling. “There are four kinds: clear response, with explicit divinity; vague response, requiring further confirmation; residual echo, contacting only conceptual remnants; and no response—which is not failure, just that Tavara is not suited to you.”

  Ian clenched his fist, imagining what level he might receive. “Teacher, can I feel which god is watching me?”

  Ryan didn’t answer directly. He only said calmly, “The first summoning does not grant power. It confirms which existences can see you. You can only passively sense them. The seeds of divine knowledge are planted at this stage.”

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  Lorne’s fingers tightened, then loosened, tapping lightly on his knee.

  Ian glanced at his brother and said with a grin, “I hope Vali notices me!”

  Lorne pressed his lips together slightly and said softly, “I… I want to see all the gods first. Observe.”

  Ryan nodded gently, acknowledging both attitudes. “Today is only the first step. The summoning at eight is observation—and possibility. When you’re sixteen and perform a directed summoning, that’s when you truly choose your path.”

  “Let them get a feel for it first, so they don’t lose interest.”

  Ryan stood up.

  He moved to the center of the study, rolled the scroll back up, and let his hands hang naturally at his sides, as though about to begin an entirely ordinary lesson.

  “Before performing a summoning,” he said, “you need to know what Tavara’s power looks like.”

  Ian immediately held his breath.

  Lorne instinctively leaned back slightly, his back pressing against the chair.

  Ryan reached out and pulled a book from the shelf.

  It wasn’t a sacred text.

  Just an ordinary, heavy reference book—Chronicles of Coastal Climate Changes in the Inner Sea.

  “Look at it,” Ryan said.

  Ian did.

  Lorne did as well.

  Ryan’s fingers rested lightly on the book’s spine. He didn’t chant, nor perform any ritual gesture.

  The next instant, Lorne felt something strange.

  Not light.

  Not heat.

  Not pressure.

  But—understanding, in motion.

  The book didn’t open.

  Yet Lorne knew what was inside.

  Not word by word, but as a structured flow of information: how air currents shifted along the coast, how humidity affected crops, which years saw abnormal storms, which endured prolonged droughts.

  As if someone had placed a fully digested version directly into his mind.

  Ian froze, his mouth slightly open.

  “I…” He frowned. “I feel like I know what this book is about, but I’ve never read it.”

  Ryan nodded.

  His eyes were different in that moment.

  Not glowing—but focused to the point of near transparency.

  “This is one manifestation of the power of knowledge,” he said calmly. “Not creating knowledge, but making existing knowledge something you can grasp.”

  Lorne’s fingertips grew faintly cold.

  He noticed something else.

  That ‘understanding’ wasn’t limitless.

  It extended only as far as Ryan allowed it to be shown.

  “The god I’m connected to,” Ryan added, “is the God of Knowledge—Sera.”

  Ian immediately looked up. “So, Teacher, can you know everything?”

  Ryan laughed softly and shook his head.

  “No.”

  “Sera does not give answers.”

  “She only gives you—the ability to understand answers.”

  He returned the book to the shelf.

  In that moment, all the extra sense of understanding receded swiftly, leaving no residue or discomfort, like a tide withdrawing back into its riverbed.

  Lorne lowered his head and looked at his hands.

  He suddenly realized—

  If this was Tavara, then gods were not beings standing on high, issuing commands.

  Gods were—

  Beings that intervened in the way you think.

  That realization unsettled him.

  “And that,” Ryan looked at them, his tone turning more serious, “is why the summoning at eight grants no power.”

  “If someone doesn’t yet understand what they’re doing, and is allowed that kind of intervention—then losing control is inevitable.”

  Ian fell silent for a moment, then murmured, “…But it’s amazing.”

  Ryan nodded. “Yes. Very amazing.”

  His gaze lingered on Lorne a little longer.

  Lorne looked up and met his eyes.

  “What are you thinking?” Ryan asked.

  Lorne considered it, not answering right away.

  Finally, he said, “If gods can make people understand things… then they can also make people think they understand, right?”

  The study fell silent for a moment.

  Ian turned to look at him.

  Iris stood by the window, saying nothing.

  Ryan didn’t deny it.

  He only said softly, “That’s a very good question.”

  Then he smiled.

  “Remember that question. The answer is something you have to seek yourself. That is the revelation the God of Knowledge gave me.”

  Outside the window, the light shifted slightly.

  Time moved forward, just a little.

  Dinner ended quietly.

  The silver platters were cleared away; the last spoon brushed the edge of a porcelain plate, releasing a short, restrained sound. Before leaving the table, Iris straightened their outer robes for them, her movements gentle, as if making sure both children were still within reach. Ryan said his goodbyes shortly after, his footsteps fading slowly into the depths of the corridor.

  Night settled in.

  Only low lamps remained lit in the Starcrown family’s inner courtyard. The light looked as if it had been soaked in water—soft, dim. Wind passed through the high windows, carrying the dampness unique to the Inner Sea, lightly stirring the gauze hanging beneath the vaulted arches.

  The brothers returned to their shared room.

  As soon as the door closed, the sounds of the outside world were cut off, leaving only the sound of each other’s breathing.

  Ian moved first.

  He kicked off his shoes, sat on the edge of the bed, then let himself fall back, hands folded behind his head, staring up at the domed ceiling engraved with a star chart.

  “The teacher is really impressive,” he said.

  His tone was casual, like he was stating something already accepted.

  Lorne didn’t answer right away.

  He placed his book back on the shelf, his movements slower than during the day. An Introduction to Tavara slid into its original place, the spine aligned neatly with the others. He checked once, then checked again, before turning and sitting on his own bed.

  “What are you thinking about?” Ian turned his head.

  Lorne thought for a moment.

  “Did you feel anything strange just now?” he asked.

  “About what?”

  “When the teacher was demonstrating.”

  Ian frowned slightly, as if replaying the memory. “You mean that book? I thought it was really cool.”

  He paused, then added, “Not the kind of cool that’s scary—it was… very clear.”

  Lorne nodded.

  “Yes. Very clear,” he said. “So clear it didn’t feel like something that was ‘learned.’”

  Ian propped himself up, elbows on his knees, really looking at Lorne this time.

  “You didn’t like it?”

  Lorne didn’t deny it right away.

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I just feel that if one day something can go straight into your head… it becomes hard to tell which thoughts are yours, and which ones aren’t.”

  The room fell quiet for a while.

  The wind brushed past the window frame, making the faintest sound.

  Ian lowered his head, looking at his fingers.

  “But if we don’t have those things,” he said, “then we can’t do anything at all, right?”

  He lifted his head again, his tone a little more certain.

  “Being seen by the gods isn’t a bad thing.”

  “At least it means you’re not wandering alone.”

  Lorne looked at him.

  When Ian said that, his gaze was steady, without hesitation. It wasn’t na?veté—it was the feeling of someone who had already placed his direction firmly in his heart.

  “Which god do you think would see you?” Lorne suddenly asked.

  Ian froze for a moment.

  He didn’t answer right away.

  After a while, he smiled—slightly embarrassed, yet somehow self-evident.

  “I don’t know which one,” he said. “But I want to stand at the front.”

  “The front?”

  “Yeah.” Ian gestured a very small distance, and said no more.

  Lorne lowered his eyes.

  The words hadn’t been spoken heavily, yet they landed with weight.

  “And if you’re chosen,” Lorne asked softly, “and I’m not?”

  Ian answered almost immediately.

  “Then that’s fine too. I’m the older brother—I’ll protect you.”

  He said it as if he had never doubted it.

  Lorne didn’t smile.

  He just sat there, fingers interlaced, slowly tightening, then relaxing.

  “Ian,” he said.

  “Hmm?”

  Lorne fell silent. He was afraid of the separation that would someday come.

  Ian thought for a moment.

  The bond twins were born with let him sense what his brother hadn’t said aloud.

  “I’ll hold your hand,” he said, “just like every day.”

  The room grew quiet once more.

  The lamplight fell on two identical faces, yet cast different shadows at subtle angles.

  Lorne lay back down on his bed, his gaze settling on the star chart in the dome above.

  Those lines existed quietly, unmoving, offering no answer.

  “Good night,” Ian said.

  “Good night,” Lorne replied.

  The light was turned off.