In the realm of Force Art, stars were all the rage for measuring mastery. And no, you weren’t having déjà vu—this wasn’t about Vision.

  So, stars werely the same as Vision’s circles. Circles measured mastery over specific spells: like, you could be a 5-circle fire mage and a 2-circle, I don’t know, mosquito zapper. Naturally, people would call you a “5-circle mage,” sizing you up by ygest aplishment. Meaning? Teically, yes, you could be a 9-circle bug repelnt mage.

  Maybe at that point, you might have been someoh a specialty in bug extermination. Yes, a literal Vision Specialty. Imagihat on a business card.

  But what about Force?

  Fet Burn; he was never in the league. Stars couldn’t measure him in the first pce. Heck, he achieved mind-body unity before he awakened his Force.

  Normal folks like Tristan and Yvolt (well, back when she was still Ysolt) actually had tle to figure their bodies out, step by step.

  Oar was where they’d find themselves when their bodies first, or maybe halfway through—or heck, maybe even before—they awakeheir Force.

  At that point, their body was just beginning to uand why it needed mana in the first pd was dabbling in how to make it work. Driven by the iion to be the most effective mae a human could ever trol, it unlocked itself a new potential. But hey, baby steps.

  Two stars meant they’d started iing that mana with their specific body type, creating what was affeately known as a Force Art type.

  This stage iece of cake for most, thanks to family traits. Who didn’t love a little aral bonus? Unless, of course, yeic luck decided to throw in some ued mutation or, let’s say, a ‘fun little twist.’ Because, surprise! Force Art types had a habit of evolving eions.

  Which brought us to three stars: the patch-up phase, where the user had to iron out those fun little ‘quirks’ and might even start finding their own ‘style.’ For first-gen Force Art types, this was their jam—no baggage, no weird family legacy weighing them down.

  That was why the first three stars were a breeze, especially for those who came from a long line of Force Art masters or were born with more martial arts talent than they knew what to do with.

  Four stars meant you’d reached that lofty level beyond family legacies and the limits of your wildest potential. Get to this stage, and you might qualify to be the lord of your , or at least an exceptional Force Master if you didn’t have one.

  Heck, a lot of people felt ready to start their own s by then.

  It was impressive, after all. Most people who reached mind-body unity were around this level. By this point, they kheir bodies like a well-read instruanual and were prepared to mianage every single cell—well, almost.

  That would e with five stars.

  Because, as you reached five stars, you essentially broke everything down and started from scratch again. It was like relearning how to breathe—no, scratch that, even how to beat your ow.

  But here’s the kicker: at five stars, you no longer o get overwhelmed by every little detail. You didn’t just stay aware of what your body was doing; you’d bee so used to manually trolling every st thing that it ractically sed nature.

  Then came six stars, the stage most people aimed to realy to… well, die.

  With manual trol over your body, sure, you could ta some extra years and dodge that pesky life expecy. You’d do your best to keep your body in top dition, just to prolong the slow-motion disiion a bit.

  This was the stage where you could even live a few hundred years.

  But the ultimate stage? Seven stars. Here’s where you reached that elite level of enlighte where you kly what was best for your body… and chose to ig. Because even if your body turo dust, you'd still be set on growing stronger.

  This was the stage Urien Pendragon hit when he decided to die. Burn called this phase “Iion Awakening.” ly a on term—since barely anyone ever achieved it.

  And it wasn’t hard to see why. Breaking free from the full potential, or in this case, limitation of your physical body, brushing it aside, and f it to obey pure willpower was the ultimate state of trol.

  Burn had actually reached this phase ages ago, but back then he didn’t have the energy or the means to craft the kind of body that could obey his every whim.

  But when he finally got the ce, with energy from the White Dwarf and Man helping with his transformation, he reached a ate entirely: Vessel Immortality.

  Gahad was a Six Stars Force Master. Practically brushing up against that elusive enlighte, teetering on the edge of it.

  Percival and Landevale? They were just barely nudging their way through the Six Stars—trying to keep up, bless them.

  And as for Tristan and Yvolt...

  “I love you!”

  SLASH!!! SPLAT!

  Four stars. Both of them. But hey, somehow, that was more than enough to throith the top-tier crowd.

  Ahlgrath’s left arm tumbled off the roof, courtesy of Yvolt’s bde. But it was uedly tough. For someoh experien the fi of arm removal, this one had put up a surprising amount of resista felt dehan an orc’s limb on its worst day.

  Sure, Force masters could beef themselves up with mana, but this? This ushing the limits of pusible arm density.

  Then came the man’s ugh—a low, ominous rumble that felt more like a storm rolling in than someone enjoying a good joke.

  His blood—or assed for it—spttered the roof in thick, bck droplets. Definitely not the usual red stuff. Holy, it wasn’t even clear if “blood” was the right term. And, as if the situation wasn’t already questionable enough, something began to writhe and squirm from the freshly-made stump.

  A grotesque mass of flesh began bubbling out, looking like a particurly cursed tumor from someone’s nightmares. Dark blue veins shrough it, and the stench? Let’s just say they’d both smelled better things rotting in ditches.

  “What is that?” Tristan muttered, his tone caught somewhere between horrified and insulted.

  The fleshy monstrosity twisted itself into something vaguely resembling an arm—or at least a bad sketch of ohree oversized fingers with cws poked their way through, and it radiated the kind of strength that screamed, “Try me.”

  “Lowly humans…” the man hissed, his voice dripping with disdain. “Time to pencil in a meeting with your creators.”

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  Enjoying writing about these fight ses so far :'D It's so fun!