Mistress Yaomie! Mistress Yaomie—wake up!"
Rose's voice trembled with panic.
Yaomie slowly opened her eyes, the world spinning faintly as she regained consciousness.
Around her, the Heads of the Nine Clans had already gathered.
The air was heavy with tension.
Then one of them stepped forward.
■ Mr. Kyle-Mond, Head of the XIV-Mic Clan.
He cleared his throat and addressed the entire assembly.
"We have reached a decision."
His voice carried across the hall like a declaration of history itself.
"After careful discussion among the clans, we believe it is time for a change that will reshape the fate of our realm."
The crowd murmured.
"From this day forward," he continued, "each clan shall reside on its own planet."
Gasps spread across the chamber.
"This will be our liberation from this fragile unity. What happened recently has opened our eyes."
His expression darkened.
"We must claim our own territories if we wish to survive what is coming."
He inhaled slowly.
"So I ask every resident of Planet Chante to prepare."
"The migration will begin on the 18th day of this month."
Silence filled the room.
Then he bowed his head slightly.
"Good day to you all."
He stepped back.
Near the council seats, Mr. Narzus leaned toward another elder and whispered quietly.
"Don't you think… we should wait for that kid?"
Before the other man could answer—
Mr. Grivel cut in sharply.
"No."
His voice was firm.
"If we wait for that chapter to finish… we might lose our lives before it even begins."
He stared toward the stars beyond the hall windows.
Far above the layered walls of the multiverse…
She stood.
A lone figure drifting through a storm of broken realities. Everywhere she moved, worlds trembled, stars dimmed, and dimensions rippled like disturbed water.
She was no longer simply a girl.
She was a walking tempest.
Planets had already felt her rage. Entire realms had trembled under the resonance of her power. To the higher beings watching from the divine planes, she looked less like a warrior and more like a cosmic horror slowly awakening.
From the throne beyond reality, the Demi-God Lussguard observed the destruction in silence.
Beside him knelt one of his most powerful servants.
Cmular — The Tempest Servant, First Goddess of the Storm Court.
Her voice carried the calm obedience of a divine executioner.
"My lord… would you like me to leash the walking havoc before she spreads further?"
Lussguard's golden eyes narrowed.
A simple nod was his answer.
And so the heavens themselves moved.
Chains of divine authority formed across the void, weaving together countless cosmic laws. In a single moment, Vibe was sealed inside an endless empty void—a prison where time had no direction and space had no form.
Her sentence was declared across the higher realms.
Eternal imprisonment.
For all eternity.
Or so they believed.
But even gods misunderstand power sometimes.
Because not even a god can truly imprison a force that stands beyond the authority of rulers themselves.
And deep inside the silent void…
Something stirred.