King Abythos stood by the arched window of the high tower, his gaze resting on the stars beyond. The void shimmered with the breath of the multiverse, and yet his thoughts were far deeper. Without turning, he spoke, his voice steady but laced with quiet intent.
"Eldest Son of Man... let's walk while we talk."
The Elder met the King's gaze and responded with a silent nod.
With a gentle rise into the air, the two figures drifted from the tower, leaving behind the luminous spires of the celestial castle. They flew wordlessly through the multiverse at the speed of light, colors and galaxies trailing around them like ribbons of liquid fire. Stars bent in their path, and worlds blurred past in a blink.
Then, with a subtle flick of his finger, King Abythos snapped.
A massive, translucent sphere shimmered into existence around them—silent, humming with energy. The moment it formed, Elder instinctively knew something was different. He could no longer hear the shifting of galaxies, the distant thrum of reality, not even his own breath. Silence reigned.
King Abythos spoke, and this time his voice echoed only within the bubble.
"This is the Bubble of Silence. Inside it, no sound from outside can be heard, and no sound within escapes. The only voice you'll hear is your own. Even thought—unless spoken—stays caged in your own mind. And, if you can believe it... it holds infinite energy."
Elder blinked, astonished. "This small bubble around us... it can do all of this?"
The King chuckled softly. "Yes."
A moment passed. Then Abythos's voice turned grave. "Let's get to the main business."
Elder's eyes narrowed. He could sense a change. The King no longer smiled—his gaze fixed forward into the dark canvas of the multiverse, avoiding the Elder's face entirely. His regal presence shifted from warm to solemn, as if what he was about to say bore the weight of fate itself.
"Elder," he began slowly, "what you're doing is... admirable. You give knowledge freely. You inspire civilizations. You've cleansed the multiverse of evil so the weak may live without fear. You've taught people how to defend themselves, how to find strength in their own hands."
"But..." His voice lowered, cold as starlight. "The hopes you're offering them—'You can live your entire life peacefully' or 'Those days of thugs and tormentors are over'—these are false hopes."
At once, the Elder's eyes flared with righteous anger. He turned sharply to Abythos and shouted, "And what is so wrong in giving people hope? Hope that their lives can be peaceful, that nothing terrible will happen again?"
Unshaken, King Abythos turned to him and asked calmly, "Elder, tell me—what is the difference between the Realm of Life and Death... and your realm?"
Confused, Elder stared at him, unsure of what answer he sought.
"The difference," Abythos continued, "is that in both the Realms of Life and Death, there are no natural laws. No rules bind them. But your realm—the one you govern—is different. There, rules must be obeyed. Laws of nature still apply. There are boundaries... and consequences."
He sighed deeply. "Merlin's beard, I can't believe I'm telling you this... But you need to know. In the Realm of Death, there's a river. And in that river, countless books float, whispering forgotten truths. Among them, there's one book, The Balance. Some call it The Prophecy Book."
Elder's brow furrowed further, his mind spiraling. "What... prophecy?"
"That's why I made this Bubble of Silence," Abythos said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "So no one else could hear what I'm about to tell you."
His eyes locked with the Elder's. "There is a prophecy written in that book—one that foretells the rise of a third realm. A realm unlike the Realm of Life or Death. A realm ruled by one man, righteous and devoted to peace... but whose vision would bring the entire multiverse to collapse. His ambition would plant seeds of greater destruction than ever before."
The King's gaze did not falter. "That man... is you, Elder."
The Elder stumbled back slightly, as if the stars beneath his feet had shifted. "What are you saying? How can guiding people toward peace... lead to such turmoil?"
Abythos placed a firm hand on the Elder's shoulder. "I understand. Ruling is a burden. Ideals that seem pure can sometimes backfire. But don't worry—I'll show you how to fix this. First, let me explain how your vision of peace threatens to destroy the balance."
With a wave of his hand, the void in front of them shifted.
A glowing plank appeared in midair, suspended over a table of pure light. Abythos summoned two stones—one dark as night, the other radiant as the sun—and placed them on either end of the plank. In the center, tiny glowing figures appeared—people, standing still, peacefully balanced.
"Look closely," said Abythos. "This is a balancing machine. The rocks on either side represent opposing forces—conflict and harmony, chaos and order, fear and hope. Their equal weight holds the plank steady, and in the middle, people live in peace."
"But..." He paused. "Even if one side loses even a sliver of its weight, the balance tips. The plank will fall. And when it falls, so will the people standing on it. Peace dies with imbalance."
Elder stared at the vision, realization creeping over him like frost.
"Sometimes," Abythos added quietly, "too much peace... too much hope... can leave people unprepared. And when the weight of evil returns—and it always does—they won't know how to stand."
"Because," King Abythos continued, his voice now a low murmur that carried the weight of ancient foresight, "when evil eventually returns to the world—and it will—the people may begin to sense the truth. They'll look back, not on their own strength, but on the hopes you gave them. It will be as if you held back all the darkness with a great wall made of hope. But as time passes, that wall begins to thin.
It weakens.
And one day... it will shatter.
And when it does, the evil waiting patiently on the other side will surge into the world like a tidal wave—and not even you will be able to stop it."
King Abythos turned to Elder, studying the troubled expression etched across his face. The silence between them grew heavy—not from the bubble that surrounded them, but from the weight of what had just been revealed.
Then Elder finally spoke. His voice trembled slightly, despite its depth and power.
"King Abythos," he said, "do you not hear it in my voice? I am desperately asking for help."
There was no pride in his tone, no defiance—only the vulnerable honesty of a ruler shouldering the destiny of an entire multiverse.
King Abythos placed a hand over his chest and nodded solemnly. "Elder," he replied, "you already hold the answer… you just didn't realize it."
Elder looked at him, confused. "The answer?"
"Yes," Abythos said firmly. "The solution to this problem is the evolution of your space government—into an army."
Elder's eyes widened slightly.
"Continue with that plan," the King went on, "and balance will return. But heed this, Elder: never try to disturb that balance once it's restored. Let your realm find its rhythm. Let it stabilize naturally. And trust in the advancements already in motion, especially those brought forth by the 'Thanks'—they are guiding your world forward more than you know."
Then, with a pause that seemed to mark the end of something ancient, King Abythos leaned in slightly.
"And above all… be sure to select the right people for the government. Not just the strongest, but the wisest. The kindest. The ones who are willing to listen to the silence between words."
Elder stood motionless, his eyes lost in the swirl of galaxies outside the bubble. King Abythos's words echoed within him—heavy, final, and yet strangely illuminating.
An army...The government must evolve...Select the right people...
He had been seeking peace as an ideal—perfect, unshakable, untouched by the scars of history. But now, he saw peace in a new light: not the absence of conflict, but the mastery of balance. A balance that demanded strength not in isolation, but in preparation.
The idea of transforming the space government into an army hadn't been foreign to him. In fact, long ago, he had brushed against the thought—only to discard it, believing it would invite fear. But now, he realized, it was not war he had to prepare for, but the preservation of order in the face of the unknown.
His hands slowly curled into fists at his sides, not in anger, but with renewed purpose.
He turned to Abythos. "I understand now. Not all hope must be passive. Some hope must wear armor."
Abythos gave a rare, approving smile. "Good. You're not just a teacher anymore, Elder. You're becoming a guardian."
The Bubble of Silence began to dissolve, the stars reintroducing their murmur into the space around them. As the silence faded, so did the weight on Elder's shoulders—not because it was gone, but because he now knew how to carry it.
The two soared back through the cosmos, returning to the floating citadel where the fate of worlds had once been shaped in scrolls and songs. Now, something new would begin.
As Elder stepped into the castle, as he closed his eyes and....
He spoke with clarity. "i will move forward. The space government shall evolve into the Guardianship Council. i will not only guide—but protect. Peace will remain our goal... but never at the cost of balance."
He paused, his eyes sweeping over those gathered.
"And I will begin selecting those who are not just powerful—but principled. Those who do not seek to rule, but to serve."
The chamber fell into respectful silence.
Somewhere in the stars, a ripple passed through the fabric of fate. The third realm was no longer just a prophecy.
It had begun.